


I Reach Out My Hand (and hope you take it)

by fallintosanity (yopumpkinhead)



Series: A Bridge Once Broken [4]
Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies), Wakfu
Genre: BAMF Frigga, Brotherhood, Brothers, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-30
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 23:50:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 34,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/779389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yopumpkinhead/pseuds/fallintosanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor is struggling to rebuild a life in the wake of the Infinity War, and to cope, for a second time, with the loss of his brother. </p><p>Then he discovers that someone's stealing from Loki's rooms...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Did You Mourn

The first time it happened, Thor went on a rampage through the servants’ quarters that lasted until Frigga caught up to him, grabbed him by the ear as if he was a child, and dragged him forcibly into a side chamber.

“What do you think you are doing?” she demanded, and it was her Mother voice, the one that when he was young meant he was about to have his ears boxed. Though from the look on her face, she might yet follow through, despite Thor having grown a full head taller than she.

Thor gritted his teeth, clenched and unclenched his fists, struggling to calm down. Finally he got himself under control enough to say, “Someone’s stealing from Loki’s chambers.”

“What?” Frigga said sharply.

“Some of his things have gone missing,” Thor said. “His more expensive spell components, bits of jewelry. Little things. The whole court seems to think they’ll turn into Jotun themselves if they so much as pass by his door”—and he couldn’t quite hide the bitterness in his voice—“so it must be the servants, when they’re in his rooms to clean.”

Frigga rarely showed how much it hurt her to see how badly people treated her younger son even after he’d saved them all, but just for a moment her lips pressed together, and steel flashed in her eyes. Then she sighed and put a hand on Thor’s arm. “I’ll speak with the servants, “ she said. “I doubt it’s any of them – your brother made it clear long ago what he’ll do if he catches anyone stealing from him – but they might know what’s going on.”

Thor looked away. It was no secret that he had taken to spending time in Loki’s rooms, in the memorial Loki had created for himself. Thor called it remembering his brother. The uneasy whispers in the corners of the halls, passed between nobles as they darted worried glances in Thor’s directions, called it brooding. Yet he thought it still had to be better than how Frigga spoke as if Loki was merely away on one of his longer trips. As if he hadn’t left for realms unknown, never to return.

As if he hadn’t disowned his family for the hurts they’d caused.

Frigga’s hand tightened on Thor’s arm, just for a moment, and he looked back at her to see her smiling sadly. “Be strong, my son,” she whispered. “It will all be well in the end.”

He nodded because that’s what she was expecting, but when the door closed behind her, Thor sank down into a chair and dropped his head into his hands.

Almost a year had passed since the Infinity War, since the revelation that Odin had sent Loki to the void, to be tortured and abused and broken. Asgard was rebuilding, golden towers and graceful spires once again stretching into the sky. The dead had been mourned, raw grief fading to a dull distant ache. The new Bifrost was in frequent use, the people of Asgard overcoming their fear of a device created by a Jotun in favor of its practicality, especially as they worked to restore their city to its former glory.

Thor had been spending more and more of his time on Earth with the Avengers. He told himself it was because they needed his help – it seemed as though Loki’s invasion of Earth had somehow awakened an entire army’s worth of megalomaniacs and would-be dictators – but in truth it was because he couldn’t bear to walk the halls of the palace alone. Loki should have been beside him, but Loki wanted nothing to do with him.

Not that Thor could blame him, either. In the months after Loki’s departure, when it became clear that he was gone for good (but not dead, because the dead were not spoken ill of), what had once been an occasional rumor-thrice-removed of a whisper of a complaint had become a flood of condemnation and disgust, a tide nearly strong enough to drown out the cheers and praise of those who were grateful that Loki had saved them. Though Loki probably hadn’t helped matters by making his last public appearance in Asgard in his Jotun skin, still Thor could tell that most of the vitriol leveled his way was long in the making, festering resentment just waiting for the moment it could be set loose. Thor had begun to realize that Loki, who had often walked the halls veiled and hidden, must have heard it all before, must have known what lurked beneath the surface of the false smiles, the etiquette-enforced politeness.

But the worst part had been to discover that Sif had been one of those who had started the ugly whispers, while Hogun had helped and Fandral and Volstagg had done nothing to stop her. It had been almost six months after the end of the war before Thor was able to track Sif down, corner her in a sitting room and demand to know the truth. She’d spat the words, defiant and furious: _I spoke naught but truth when I named him weak, womanish, nīðing. Are you still so blind that you cannot see the truth of him? Are you still so foolishly devoted to a seiðmaðr who would have stolen your throne through trickery and lies?_

Thor had struck her then, a punch to the jaw that had staggered her. He’d wanted to do more, but it was not his place; it was Loki and Loki alone who had the right to extract punishment for her words. Sif had glared at him with anger, but no surprise, in her eyes as Thor snarled, _Loki is a far better man and a far stronger warrior than you will ever be. The only disgrace I see is you, who has done nothing but tear down my brother when all he sought was your friendship._ He’d had to stop then, breathing hard, lest he take Mjölnir in hand and strike her with all its power. _Get out of my sight,_ he’d snarled, and she had complied, storming from the room with her head high.

Fandral and Volstagg, when they returned from Vanaheim, had made a half-hearted attempt at mediation: _Thor, we know he’s your brother but he… he took our minds, he unmade us. That’s a wound the healers can do naught for. Give her time._ But Thor could only think about how she’d had time – a lifetime of what should have been friendship, time that she’d used instead to do everything she could to tear Loki down and make him suffer.

Hogun, for his part, stayed close at Sif’s side, a silent dark shadow that hurt less for the loss of his friendship, for Thor had always known that Hogun had traveled with them out of love for Sif, and more for how he reminded Thor of the way Loki used to be Thor’s own shadow – which in turn brought the memory of the raw pain in Loki’s voice when he’d said, _I remember a shadow, living in the shade of your greatness._

The sound of the door opening drew Thor from his thoughts, and he looked up to see Fandral leaning in the doorway. “Your mother said I’d find you here,” Fandral said.

“It’s unwise to be in my company right now,” Thor muttered.

Fandral shrugged, stepping the rest of the way into the room and closing the door behind him. “Someone has to do it. You can’t hide in the servants’ halls or on Earth forever, Thor.”

“I’m not hiding,” Thor said, but it didn’t sound convincing, even to him.

“Sulking?” Fandral suggested. He dropped into another chair and pulled a flask from a pocket. “Brooding? Mooning over your brother?”

Thor glared at him.

Fandral took a sip from the flask and held it out; after a moment Thor gave in and accepted it. From the scent he could tell it was the good wine Fandral had brought back from Vanaheim, and he drank it with the reverence it deserved. Still, even the best wine wasn’t enough to lighten his mood, and when he handed the flask back to Fandral he said, “I miss him.” Fandral stayed quiet, turning the flask over in his hands, and after a moment Thor added, “Sometimes it seems like I’m the only one who does.”

Fandral glanced up at him. “Your parents…?”

“Mother doesn’t count,” Thor said. “And Father…” He stopped, shaking his head, and Fandral nodded in understanding. Word had spread that Odin had sent Loki to the void, on the slim chance that his younger son could save the universe from Thanos’s madness. It was the main reason, Thor suspected, why many people were as supportive of Loki as they were. Like any king, Odin had his share of detractors, people who disagreed with his policies and his decisions, and family was sacred in Asgard. Even if your son was an adopted, magic-using Jotnar runt, there were some things you just didn’t do, no matter platitudes like _the greater good_ or _no other choice_.

Neither of them spoke for a long minute, just passing the flask back and forth. Then, out of the blue, Fandral said, “I miss him too, sometimes.”

Thor looked up at him, startled. Fandral was staring at the empty fireplace, lost in thought; he continued, “Not many can make you laugh like Loki. And he always knew what to say to catch a maiden’s ear.”

Thor smiled then, just a little. “Mother was never sure which of the two of you was a worse influence on the other.”

“Me, of course,” Fandral said with a smirk. “There’s none in the kingdom better at wooing than I.” He sat back, taking another sip from the flask. “Volstagg says sometimes he wishes Loki was still here to steal the good sweets from the kitchens,” he added.

That was enough to make Thor chuckle; he remembered all too well teasing a much-younger Loki that if Loki didn’t stop feeding Volstagg, he would soon grow as round as a gourd. Loki had responded, with his best wide-eyed innocence, that he fed Volstagg because it made it funnier when Volstagg sat on Thor after beating him at wrestling.

Still, there was a part of Thor which kept thinking that this was how it should have been after Loki’s funeral last year, when they thought him dead: drinking with his friends and sharing their favorite stories of his brother. He’d thought the reason no one had spoken much of Loki after the funeral was because they were respecting the royal family’s grief, and did not want to bring up a painful subject. He knew, now, that it was because it was improper to speak ill of the dead, even if the dead man had been the unfavorite, the shunned, the reviled second prince. And he couldn’t help but wonder if Fandral’s concern now was simply to get Thor to stop brooding, to rejoin them in the sparring ring or on grand adventures, rather than to actually remember a man it seemed no one had genuinely _liked_.

No one except Thor.

He sighed, and when Fandral offered him the flask again, waved it away. “I appreciate your concern, my friend,” he said. “But I think I should be alone.”

Fandral eyed him for a moment. “Alone?” he said. “Or will you go back to Midgard again? You don’t seem to mind the company of _mortals_.”

“Have a care with your words,” Thor growled.

“ _Thor_ ,” Fandral said sharply. “Must I spell it out? I’m _worried_ about you. Have you forgotten I’m your friend?”

“I’ve _remembered_ ,” Thor shot back, just as sharp, “that my _brother_ suffered for years the derision and scorn of those I called friends—”

“ _It wasn’t like that!_ ” Fandral shouted. “I didn’t—we never meant for him to suffer, we _always_ joked, all of us, and Loki too, do you remember _that_? Do you remember how he played tricks on us, too? We _all_ used to tease, even you—”

Thor shot to his feet, looming over Fandral. “Do you think I don’t _know_ that?” he demanded.  “Do you think it doesn’t haunt me, every day, to know that I helped ruin my own brother, helped drive him mad, and never once realized what I was doing?” But he’d had this discussion before, with a patient mortal woman Tony had introduced him to, who called herself a healer of the mind. Had chased the thought through its endless circles, knowing the only answer was that he’d been young, and naïve, and selfish. The anger drained from him in a sudden rush and he turned away from Fandral to lean on the mantel. “It’s no wonder he hates me.”

Movement behind him, then Fandral’s hand clasped his shoulder. His voice hesitant, pained, Fandral said, “When he—when we were—” He stopped and took a deep breath. Thor made himself stay silent, made himself listen. Fandral had never spoken of the time he and the others had spent under Loki’s mental control; for him to do so now meant what he said was of great import. After a moment, Fandral continued, “I could sense… his thoughts, I suppose, just a little. Flashes. He wasn’t… He didn’t hate you. He was… angry, yes, and… hurting. He hates us, me and Volstagg and Hogun and Sif. But… he never hated you.”

Thor bit his lip, hard, letting his head fall forward so that his hair shielded his face. He didn’t want Fandral to see the tears that spilled down his cheeks, didn’t want him to know how those words tore into Thor’s heart like knives. Fandral’s hand tightened on his shoulder, and for a while neither of them spoke. Eventually Fandral said softly, “Go to Midgard, then, if you’d prefer. Just don’t… don’t sit alone and brood, Thor.”

Thor nodded. Fandral clapped him on the arm with his other hand, not quite an embrace, then he let go, and after a moment Thor heard the door open and close again behind him.

It was a long time before Thor could bring himself to move away from the fireplace. It was longer still before he trusted his expression enough to leave the room, and when he did, he went straight to the Bifrost, straight to Midgard. He was fortunate that a particularly aggressive madman had just unleashed an army of metal men on a major city, and for a while he lost himself in their destruction.

Afterwards, Tony took one look at Thor’s face and ordered his invisible servant to schedule an appointment with the healer of minds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go again... the fourth part of the "A Bridge Once Broken" series, and the second multi-chapter fic. Enjoy! :)


	2. Scheming

The second time it happened, Thor had been away on Midgard for almost a month straight, helping the Avengers track down and defeat a gang of criminals with an inexplicable fondness for snakes. Upon his return, he noticed that the palace servants seemed to vanish at his approach; suspicious, he checked Loki’s rooms and found that two valuable magical tomes and an emerald-studded golden ring, which Thor had won in a tournament on Alfheim and given to Loki as a spring festival gift, had vanished.

He stood in the middle of Loki’s bedroom for several long minutes, breathing in and out as the mind-healer had taught him, fighting back the urge to upend the bed. When he had himself under control—more or less—he stormed out of the room and went looking for Frigga.

She was in her workshop, weaving, and he could tell she’d been expecting him because she nodded to the two serving girls helping her, and they hurried out. Frigga took a minute more to finish what she was doing, but finally set the shuttle down and turned on her stool to face Thor. “The servants told me four days ago,” she said calmly. “Agni tended Loki’s rooms both the day before the books went missing, and the day after. He believes it happened overnight.”

“Not just books,” Thor said. “A ring, too. One I gave him.”

Something flickered across Frigga’s face too quickly for Thor to identify, then her expression settled back to the calm not-quite-smile that meant she was hiding her thoughts (the same expression Loki used, for the same reasons, and Thor was almost starting to grow immune to the needles in his heart brought by such memories). “I spoke with Heimdall,” she said. “But your brother shielded his rooms long ago, and Heimdall cannot see inside them.”

“There has to be something we can do,” Thor growled.

Frigga shook her head, frustration in the gesture. “All we know,” she said, “is that it seems to be happening at night, when the palace is quietest.”

Thor chewed his lip, thinking; then he nodded to himself. If the thefts were happening overnight, well. He could deal with that easily enough.

*             *             *

He wasn’t expecting the rumors.

Bad enough that the crown prince of Asgard spent most of his days defending another realm from its own overzealous folk. Worse that much of what little time he spent home, was spent moping in his disfavored brother’s rooms. But it bordered on unacceptable that he should start _sleeping_ there.

Thor tried to ignore the whispers, the sidelong glances; he was used to being pointed and stared at on Midgard, and this wasn’t so different. Or so he told himself. In reality, he knew that he was causing harm, possibly irreparable harm, to his reputation, at a time when Asgard needed what remained of its royal family to show stability and strength.

He told Fandral and Volstagg what he was doing, one evening while they drank together by a roaring fire. He could tell by the looks they exchanged that they were doubtful at best about both his strategy and his sanity, and he reassured them that his only intention was to stop the theft of his brother’s things. “If,” he said, and it took monumental effort to keep his voice normal, “if my brother does come home someday… He should not return to find that his belongings were plundered the moment he turned his back.”

They both nodded, then Volstagg leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Thor,” he said. “You’re gone to Midgard half the time. Do you really expect to catch the thief?”

Thor sighed. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I hope so, but while I must protect my brother, I must also protect my friends on Midgard.”

Volstagg glanced again at Fandral, then said cautiously, “If you’d like, we could stand watch outside his rooms while you’re gone.”

“Truly?” Thor said, surprised, and Volstagg nodded.

“Sleeping in there’s a bit much,” Fandral added, “but… even if his methods were appalling, he did save our lives during the war. He didn’t have to do that.”

Thor looked away for a moment to compose himself. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “This… means a great deal to me.”

Volstagg clapped him on the shoulder. “Just bring me some of those tarts you’re always talking about, so I have something to keep me awake.”

Thor smiled; Fandral opened his mouth and Thor said quickly, “No, I won’t bring you any Earth maidens.”

“It was worth a shot,” Fandral said with a shrug and a rueful grin, and when the three of them laughed together, it was almost like old times.

*             *             *

Several months passed with no more thefts, and Thor began to think that his strategy was working – even if they couldn’t catch the thief, they could at least prevent him from stealing anything else. He brought a box of Pop-Tarts for Volstagg to try, then an entire crate of various flavors; for Fandral he enlisted Tony’s help and managed to produce a pair of slim, floppy-paged, brightly-colored books filled with pictures of Earth women in scanty clothing and appallingly indecent poses.

( _“Your people just… sell these?” he’d asked in shock. “On the streets?”_

 _“Sure,” Tony had answered cheerfully. “Hell, you can get ones where they’re not wearing anything at all, but I promised Pepper I wouldn’t get those any more after the thing with Miss October, and I don’t think she’d buy the excuse that my friend the God of Thunder wanted them to give to his friend the God of Rosie Palms.”_ )

The whispers, at least, began to die down with the passage of time. His friends’ willingness to stand guard, as well as Frigga’s continued quiet investigation among the servants, seemed to have lent an air of legitimacy to Thor’s mission. And Thor made a point of trying to reintegrate himself into court life, as well: sitting through petitions at Odin’s right hand; attending meetings with elven ambassadors and dwarven smiths and Vanir mages, to bargain for the materials and labor to rebuild the golden city; stepping in for Odin at minor functions and gatherings. Odin said little about it – he’d said little at all since the Infinity War – but Thor thought he was pleased.

It was, perhaps, because things had been going so well that it stung all the more when he returned from Midgard early one evening and headed to Loki’s rooms to sleep, and noticed the new gap on the bookshelf.  He knew immediately what was missing: a book of magic from the age of the titans, ancient and incredibly powerful. Loki had nearly lost his life retrieving it from the Svartalfheim tomb where it had been buried. For a moment Thor was once again cradling his brother’s too-pale body in a pitch-black tunnel, struggling to stanch the bleeding from wounds too numerous to count, sliced into Loki’s flesh by furious dark elves. Loki had clutched to his chest the leather case which protected the book, giggling softly in delirium or joy or possibly both, seeming completely unaware of Thor’s terror. After Thor had got him back to Asgard and the healers had tended him, he’d made Loki vow never to do something like that again.

Of course, Loki being Loki, he had found a dozen ways to get around that vow in the centuries since.

Thor touched a finger to the empty shelf where should have sat the tome, and his hand closed into a fist. He made himself run through the exercises taught to him by the mind-healer to keep his temper in check: breathe, count, release. _Think._ He had been here two nights ago, and everything had been in order. Volstagg had been on guard last night, so Thor would need to talk to him to see if anything unusual had happened.

Right. He could do that.

He found Volstagg and Fandral playing dice in a sitting room, mugs of mead on the table at their elbows. Volstagg, distracted by the game, waved absently as Thor entered; but Fandral looked up, and Thor must not have been wholly successful at banishing the anger, because Fandral said, “What happened?”

“There’s been another theft,” Thor told them, and Volstagg made a surprised sound.

“That’s impossible,” he said. “I was there all night. No one even came by the hall.”

“Nevertheless, one of my brother’s books is missing,” Thor growled, then bit his tongue. Breathe, count, release. In a more normal voice he asked, “Did you hear anything unusual – perhaps they’re coming in through the windows, or—”

But Volstagg was already shaking his head. “I thought I heard a sound in there,” he said. “But I checked, and the rooms were empty. —And before you ask, yes, I checked _thoroughly_. I didn’t notice any books missing, either, though I’ve hardly catalogued his collection.”

Thor growled again, clenching his fists. Fandral and Volstagg traded glances, then Fandral stood up, handed Thor one of the mugs of mead, and steered him into a chair. Thor scowled into the mug. “I am not a hysterical maiden,” he muttered. “You do not need to cluck over me like a mother hen.”

“Then pretend I’m Loki,” Fandral answered, his voice carefully light. “You never mind when he fusses over you.”

Thor rolled his eyes. “Loki forgets that he is not—” Then his mind caught up to his mouth and he stopped, fingers tightening on the mug. Almost like old times, except that Loki would not walk in to laugh at Thor’s hatred of being mollycoddled. He took a drink, pointedly ignoring the worried look his friends shared, and said, “So either our thief has grown bold enough to strike during the day, when the servants are about and watching, or he’s found a way to sneak in and out of the room, and hide in plain—”

He stopped.

Fandral and Volstagg were both staring at him.

_Hide in plain sight._

Hope blossomed in his chest, so suddenly it hurt, and he desperately shoved it back down. “It can’t be him,” Thor said shakily. “Loki made it clear he had no intent to return. And anyway, if he’d wanted his things he could have taken them with him when he left…”

“And Heimdall would know,” Volstagg added. “Wouldn’t he? Loki would have to come through the Bifrost, so Heimdall must know.”

“Heimdall has not been forthcoming on the subject of my brother,” Thor said. “And I don’t think that’s going to change. No.” He set the mug on the table and leaned forward. “We’ll have to use a new tactic.”

“Thor,” Fandral said. “Loki can hide from Heimdall. _Heimdall_. What makes you think you’ll be able to catch him, if he doesn’t want to be seen?”

“I will ask Tony,” Thor said. “The mortals have some truly ingenious methods for catching intruders, and I do not think Loki will be prepared for Midgardian technology.”

“And… if it’s not Loki?” Volstagg asked.

Thor smiled, and from the way his friends shrank back, knew it was not a pleasant expression. “Then I will deal with them as appropriate for one who steals from the royal family of Asgard.”

*             *             *

“Loki,” Tony said irritably, “managed to walk into the middle of a secure SHIELD facility, into a room _full of Avengers_ , without being noticed. And I’m pretty sure the only reason we had any idea what he was doing with the Tesseract the first time around was because he was being as obvious as he could. In fact, he is called the freaking _God_ of freaking _Lies_. What, exactly, makes you think I’ll be able to catch him?”

Thor grinned and clapped Tony on the shoulder, just hard enough to make him stagger a bit. “I have faith in your magical sciences.”

They stood together in the observatory at the top of Stark Tower, long since mended from the battle for New York. Thor had explained what he needed over glasses of wine – the good Vanaheim wine, which Fandral had donated for the cause – and now Tony paced restlessly back and forth in front of the windows. He’d mostly lost the habit of rubbing his throat when he came too near them, for which Thor was grateful.

“There’s nothing magic about it,” Tony grumbled. “It’s science, it’s the polar opposite of magic.”

“Of course it is,” Thor said agreeably. “Which is why Loki will not expect it.”

Tony paused in his pacing to scowl at him. Thor reached over and refilled his wine glass, which earned him another glare over the rim as Tony took a sip. But after a moment, Tony went back to pacing. “Okay, so hidden alarm system, it’ll need to be hard to see, and silent, right, okay, and independently powered since I’m pretty sure you guys don’t have wall sockets up there—” He whirled on Thor. “Do batteries taste like magic?” Thor blinked, confused, and Tony kept going without waiting. “Apparently arc reactors taste like magic, he could, I don’t know, _sense_ mine, and that _still_ annoys me, if you find him can you ask him what the hell he was talking about and also tell him that no, arc reactors are not magic, I don’t care what the glowstick of destiny says—”

Thor took a seat in one of the strange square Midgardian chairs, sipping his wine and letting Tony’s words wash over him. If he closed his eyes and didn’t listen too carefully, he could almost pretend he was back on Asgard, listening to Loki talk about magical theory.

*             *             *

The device Tony produced two days later was marvelous in its simplicity: a long, flexible cord that could be easily tucked beneath a bookshelf or against a wall. Thor didn’t entirely follow his explanation of how it worked, but gathered that it would map everything in its field of vision (he didn’t bother to ask how a cord could have vision), then sound a silent alarm if anything new appeared on its map – such as a thief stepping up to a bookshelf. The silent alarm would activate a device like the comms the Avengers used in combat, a tiny plug that hooked into one ear. Whoever was standing watch over Loki’s rooms each night would wear the earpiece, although Tony warned Thor that he had no idea how the palace walls would interfere with the signal and to make sure there were no more than three walls between the earpiece and the cord.

Thor returned to Asgard that evening feeling that finally, perhaps, they’d catch the intruder. He didn’t quite dare think _Loki_ , because even the thought hurt, the possibility that Loki would come back only for the sake of trinkets and not to see those who loved him, those who missed him ( _but_ Loki _didn’t miss_ them _, and that was the crux of it, wasn’t it?_ ). Thor kept a close eye on Heimdall in his comings and goings through the Bifrost, but if the Sentinel of Asgard knew aught of Loki, or who might be stealing from his rooms, he said nothing _(and that could mean nothing or everything; Heimdall could not see into Loki’s rooms, and his silence on the matter of the Bifrost could be because he was hiding Loki’s movements, or because Loki was not traveling, and either way it helped Thor not at all)_.

The cord fit neatly beneath the bookshelves, and had enough length that Thor could angle it to monitor the vanity where Loki kept his jewelry, as well. Even knowing it was there, he could barely see it; someone who was not looking for it would never notice. He explained it to Fandral and Volstagg, who were suitably impressed, and Fandral even gave Thor another bottle of Vanir wine as a gift for the Midgardian sorcerer who’d crafted such a fine device. _(“Someday,” Tony said when Thor delivered the bottle, “you’re going to have to bring your friends to Earth with you. They sound fun. Also they have great taste. Also I’m going to explain to them why science does not equal sorcery. Because come on.”)_

He had done everything he could. All that was left now was to wait.

*             *             *

Thor woke slowly, disoriented; he was curled between a feather mattress and warm furs, which meant he was on Asgard, yet the voice of Tony’s invisible servant was saying quietly, “Intruder detected. Intruder detected.” Then he remembered the earpiece and came awake all at once, eyes snapping open in the dark of Loki’s bedroom. Only it wasn’t as dark as it should have been; a dim golden glow shone from the next room, Loki’s workroom where he kept his books.

A _familiar_ golden glow, and hope stabbed painfully through him.

He couldn’t see the intruder from this angle, and for a moment he was afraid he’d have to sit up, to move and give away his wakefulness, give whoever it was ( _don’t think about Loki_ ) the chance to hide—

Then a figure passed in front of the door and Thor’s breath caught, his heart stopping, relief and joy and fear and a thousand other emotions rushing through him all at once. He knew that slender silhouette, that graceful step, the way long-fingered hands turned the pages of a thick book.

Loki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not that you all hadn't already guessed who the "thief" was... ;)


	3. He Did Tell You

Loki.

Loki, just one room away, nose in a book and golden witchlights floating at his shoulder, and it was so incredibly _normal_ that for a moment Thor couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. He was frozen, still lying on the bed, caught between a fierce desire to rush across the space between them to grab Loki, embrace him, hold him so that he could not vanish; and the knowledge that Loki could be gone before Thor had taken his second step.

So Thor didn’t move, just laid still and watched. It was an odd angle; his head still on the pillow, his view canted through the open doorway between the bedroom and the workroom, the witchlights casting strange shadows as Loki paced. Still, Thor could see that he looked different. Healthier. Not as skeletal, not as ragged, as he had been almost two years ago when Thor had last seen him.

His clothes were still the green-gold-black he favored, but the shape of them was new, strange. The cut of his pants, fastened with an embroidered sash at the waist, was looser, more relaxed. His shirt was sleeveless and open-necked, as was the long coat he wore over it, leaving his arms and collarbone bare. (Save the feast after the war, when Loki had flaunted his Jotun form, Thor could not remember the last time his brother had shown so much skin in casual dress; Thor realized with a surge of guilt that Loki probably did so now because he did not have to listen to Thor and Sif and the Three tease him for being moonlight-pale no matter how much time he spent in the sun.) His hair was longer, but where the Loki of old had always simply slicked his hair back, now it was bound at the nape of his neck with an elegant gold clasp, and braided with beads of green and gold.

He looked almost fey, like a character from an Earth child’s storybook or an elven puppet play. Hardly real, and Thor was half-tempted to pinch himself – and half afraid, because he could not bear to wake up and have this be no more than a dream. For the millionth time, he wondered where Loki lived now, what he did. Who his friends were – if he even had any, if he had not become a hermit as he had used to joke of doing – whether the Eliatrope woman was still his consort. That last, at least, was probably _yes_ , for Thor could just see a glint of red on Loki’s finger, where he wore her ring.

He hoped that was a good thing, remembered how Loki had looked at her in the days leading up to the Infinity War, how he had seemed almost to use her as a touchstone after. Thor glanced at Loki’s face, hoping for a clue in his expression—

Loki was watching him.

Green eyes glinted in the golden witchlights, irritated or perhaps amused; Thor wondered how long Loki had been aware of his scrutiny. Since there was no point in trying to hide any more (and Thor tried to tell himself it was a good sign, that Loki had not simply disappeared, run off, the moment he realized Thor was watching him), Thor pushed aside the furs and sat up. “Loki,” he said quietly.

“Thor,” Loki answered, matching his tone.

Thor hesitated, feeling unsure, awkward, and hating himself for it. This was _Loki_ , this was his brother, with whom he’d desperately wished to speak – yet Thor could no more think of what to say than when he was put on the spot unexpectedly at diplomatic meetings. He blurted, “How are you?” and immediately winced.

Loki quirked an eyebrow in what might have been amusement or scorn – Thor hated how the witchlights cast Loki’s face half in shadow, hated that he could read even less of his brother’s expression than usual – but then Loki said, his voice neutral, “Well enough.”

 _Breathe_ , Thor reminded himself. _Breathe, count, think._ Loki still hadn’t moved, standing in the doorway with one finger marking his spot in the book. If he was going to bolt, he would have done so by now, so perhaps Thor had a chance. “I—” he started, then stopped, fingers clenching at his sides, and tried again. “We miss you.”

Loki stared at him for a long moment; his expression didn’t change but his voice went cold. “I’m sure.” Something of his confusion must have shown on Thor’s face, because Loki moved abruptly, the book in his hand snapping closed, his other hand gesturing sharply at Thor, at the bedroom. “You couldn’t even be bothered to wait two years,” Loki said, and there was something almost tired in his voice, beneath the anger. “When will you start replacing the furniture?”

It took a couple of seconds for Thor to realize what he meant. “No!” he protested, and he was on his feet, halfway across the room, stopping only when Loki backed up an equal distance. “No,” Thor said again. “Someone was stealing from your rooms, I was trying to catch them—But it was you, wasn’t it? You’ve been coming back, you’ve been taking your things.”

“Generally,” Loki said in a voice like ice, “one is allowed to take one’s own things, yes.”

Thor ran a hand through his hair, looking away, biting back the retorts that sprang to his lips. _Breathe._ He could almost hear the mind-healer’s voice in his head, _breathe, count, think._ In as normal a voice as he could manage, he said, “What are you doing, anyway?” He motioned to the bookshelves, to the book in Loki’s hand. “You have half your library memorized, what are you looking for?”

“The other half,” Loki said, and if it was the snide answer, there was also no more malice in his voice than when he normally joked, and Thor allowed himself to relax, just a little.

“Why?” he asked.

Loki studied him for a moment; Thor wished he knew what Loki was looking for, wished he knew what to say. He tried to keep his expression open, interested. _Breathe, count, release. Don’t say anything. Wait, be patient._ Agent Romanoff’s voice in his head, advice from almost two years ago: _Listen._ Pushing Loki would only drive him away, and Thor didn’t dare risk this chance to see his brother, to talk to him.

Finally Loki said, “Yugo is learning abjuration, but Eliatropes use a wildly different form of wards than is common in the Nine Realms, so I’m researching.”

“Yugo?” Thor asked.

“The Eliatrope king. You’re really not claiming my rooms for your own?”

Thor blinked, thrown for a moment by the non-sequitur. “No, of course not,” he said. “I told you, I only—”

“Then stay out,” Loki cut him off. He motioned with one hand, and even as Thor realized what he was doing, even as Thor reached out for him, Loki vanished.

Silence for a moment, then Tony’s invisible servant said helpfully, “The intruder has left, sir.”

Thor yanked out the earpiece and flung it to the ground.

*             *             *

Thor hadn’t actually intended to hide Loki’s visit from Frigga. But Frigga was busy the morning after, then Thor had to go unexpectedly to Svartalfheim to deal with a dwarven crafts-guild, and after that he was called to Earth to help the Avengers. By the time he got back, more than two months had passed and he was half-convinced his conversation with Loki had been naught but a desperate dream.

Still, when he checked Loki’s rooms upon his return, there was an empty spot on the bookshelf where once had sat a book on abjuration (and Thor remembered, with equal parts amusement and heartache, how Loki had once clubbed him over the head with that book until Thor stopped deliberately mispronouncing “abjuration”). Fandral and Volstagg reported no activity on their watches, and the mechanical sentinel still sat hidden beneath the bookshelf. He considered, then, finding Frigga and telling her, but it seemed unnecessarily cruel to tell her that though Loki had been there, that though Loki was apparently returning with some regularity, he had no desire to see her.

So Thor kept quiet, but despite Loki’s warning, didn’t stop his vigil. Now that he knew Loki was coming back, he was determined to catch him again. And possibly knock him to the floor and sit on him until Loki realized how much he was missed, how much he was loved.

“I don’t think,” the mind-healer said when he told her, “that would be very productive.”

Her name was Maude; she was a handsome, motherly woman with silvering hair who dressed in muted browns and greys. She seemed comfortable enough in his presence despite his status, with a decidedly no-nonsense attitude which had made clear early on that Thor might be the Crown Prince of Asgard and the God of Thunder, but she would brook no insolence from him. After his initial reservations at the mere thought that he needed a healer of the mind (which had given way before Tony’s stubborn insistence to the contrary), Thor had found that he rather liked her, and appreciated her generally reasonable insights into his frustrations.

Such as now. “I _know_ that,” Thor groused. “But it would make me feel better.”

Maude smiled a little, but said, “Is that your goal? To make yourself feel better?”

Thor sighed. “No,” he said, then clenched a hand on the armrest of his chair until the wood creaked beneath the padding. “I just hate how… how _frustrating_ he can be.”

“Have you considered that he might be frustrated with you as well?” Maude asked. “It sounds like he’s upset with your being in his room.”

Thor frowned, picking absently at the hem of his shirt. He usually wore mortal clothing when he visited Maude, mostly because traveling through the city in his Aesir garb tended to gather crowds and interfere with his ability to actually get anywhere, but he still wasn’t comfortable in it. “Maybe,” he admitted. “I don’t know why he’d think I want to claim his rooms for my own, though. I’ve never wanted them, and in any case if I actually intended to take them, I wouldn’t start by sleeping in his bed and leaving his things untouched.”

“Have you ever given him reason to think you might take his things?” Maude asked. “Perhaps you’ve taken something of his before?”

“No,” Thor said. “Well, things like…” He waved a hand vaguely. “Like parchment when I ran out, or his fruit knife when I couldn’t find mine, little things that don’t matter, and he always did the same…” But even as he spoke he remembered, sudden and painfully clear, Loki shouting at him as they fought on a SHIELD base in New Mexico before the Infinity War: _You wanted everything from me, always! You thought I would be happy in your shadow, with your scraps. And when I dared take something for myself – when I dared want more than your leftovers – you took it from me. You destroy everything I desire! You think I am happy to take only what you give,_ brother _, and you are_ wrong _._

“…Thor?” Maude prompted gently.

Thor shook his head, pushing up out of the chair, body tensed for a fight that was long over. “No,” he said, and the words hurt his throat. “No, you’re right. I took everything from him.” He ran a hand over his face, dragged it back through his hair, wishing there was something in the room he could break. “By Yggdrasil, when will I _stop_ hurting my own brother?”

“You didn’t do it on purpose,” Maude said. “You didn’t know—”

But she had told him all this before, _you didn’t know what you were doing, you were young, you’re trying to learn how to be better now_. It didn’t matter, none of it, because it was already too late and Loki was lost to him. Anger coiled in his chest, hot and bright and trapped, tearing at his heart. “I was stupid,” he snarled. “Stupid and selfish and cruel, and there are no words pretty enough to hide that I failed the one responsibility more important than any other.”

“Thor—” Maude said again, sharper, but Thor was already storming through the door, and the crash as it slammed shut behind him echoed grimly down the hall in his wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have watched _Iron Man 3_ last weekend. 
> 
> It may have reminded me that Jarvis has a twisted sense of humor.


	4. There Is No Right Thing

Normally Thor avoided the training grounds when Hogun was running drills for the new Einherjar recruits, but after the conversation with the mind-healer he found he didn’t care. He needed to spar with someone, needed to fight and break and smash, and Doctor Banner, the only one of the Avengers he didn’t fear hurting, was gone on some sort of relief mission. So he returned to Asgard, storming down the rainbow bridge back to the royal palace as the wind picked up ominously, sensing his mood.

He hadn’t bothered to change out of his Midgardian clothes, and as he approached the sparring field behind the palace he tore off the layers of cotton shirts that would only hinder his movement. The new recruits were spread out across the field, running through a series of exercises with heavy practice weapons. Mjölnir was a solid weight in Thor’s hand, singing with his rage, with a desire to smash those practice weapons to pieces, to break and shatter and destroy, to free the fury roiling in his chest. He watched with distant scorn as the soldiers on the field faltered in their steps and, when Hogun didn’t reprimand them, scattered at his approach.

“Why do you flee?!” Thor roared as he vaulted the fence into the ring. “Will none of you fight me?”

Silence across the field as the young soldiers looked fearfully at everything but Thor, edging back against their fellows and trying not to look like they were volunteering. Thor growled, and overhead thunder cracked along fast-gathering clouds. “Cowards!” he shouted. “You are soldiers of Asgard! Where is your strength, where is your _fight_?” He thumped a fist on his bare chest. “Who will stand against me?”

Hogun stepped forward onto the field.

It startled Thor, just for a moment – after the Infinity War, Hogun had made it clear he wanted nothing to do with Thor – but Hogun had already raised his mace and Thor was in no mood to turn him down. He lunged forward, Mjölnir crackling with power, and the clang as their weapons met echoed across the training grounds. Thor lost himself quickly in the fight, in the movement of flesh and bone and steel and storm. For all that he was lean as a whip, Hogun was strong, and fast to boot, able to keep up with Thor and take blow after blow of Mjölnir without flinching. Rain began to fall around them, the dirt of the field quickly turning to mud as lightning snapped and thunder boomed.

Thor lashed out with all the anger in him, the rage burning hot and bright and accusing, remembering the pain in Loki’s Jotun-red ( _wrong, they should be green,  he was Aesir, it didn’t matter the circumstances of his birth_ ) eyes, in his voice, _Leave me alone_. Remembering the tired ache when he’d said _Then stay out._ How he thought that Thor only wanted to take from him, how he hadn’t seemed to believe Thor was trying to help.

How no matter what Thor did, it only hurt Loki more.

Eventually the anger howling inside him faded, his strength waning as the clouds overhead began to dissipate. Thor and Hogun both were breathing hard, their attacks growing slower, their steps more cautious in the mud of the sparring ring. Finally Thor disengaged from Hogun, met his eyes for a moment, and nodded. Hogun nodded back, ending the match, and Thor turned away to slog toward the fence at the edge of the field. He was soaking wet and covered with mud, and when he dragged a hand across his face it came away bloody from when Hogun had elbowed him in the nose. Still, he felt better: the urge to break and destroy was gone, worn out by the battle.

He draped his arms over the fence, eyes drifting closed. Somewhere behind him Hogun snapped orders to the soldiers who’d stayed to watch the fight, and after a moment he heard the rattle and clank of armor as the men packed up and left. The sun broke through the clouds, warm against Thor’s skin; he tilted his face up to the light.

The fence creaked and shifted, and he opened his eyes to see Hogun leaning on the wood beside him. “Thank you,” Thor said quietly.

Hogun flicked him a glance. “You would have killed them,” he said.

Thor didn’t answer. Hogun was right – these were young men, newly recruited to fill the ranks after the Infinity War had devastated Asgard’s army. They were nowhere near strong or skilled enough to stand against Thor, and he felt a little guilty for calling them cowards. Guilty, and grateful that Hogun had been willing to face him despite their disagreements. They stood in silence for a few minutes, and if it wasn’t exactly companionable, neither was it uncomfortable.

Then Hogun said carefully, “Only Loki can anger you so.”

Thor flinched; tried to cover it with a laugh but it came out hollow. “Not Loki this time,” he said. “Rather what I have done to him.” He dropped his head into his hands, fingers raking backward through his hair and tangling in the mud coating it. “You shouldn’t blame him for what he did during the war,” he said. “Blame me, for it was I who destroyed him. It was I who took everything from him, until he had nothing left but pain.”

“So now you take his actions, too?” Hogun asked. Thor frowned at him, and Hogun continued, “He chose to do what he did. Will you take that away from him?”

“I—” Thor said, and stopped as he realized what Hogun was saying. “That’s different—”

“Is it?”

Thor sighed, his shoulders slumping. “It seems I cannot do the right thing, no matter what I try.”

Hogun said nothing, and they lapsed back into silence for a while. It was almost like before ( _and Thor was starting to hate how his life had become divided into “before Jotunheim” and “after Jotunheim”, how everything had changed with that one unbelievably stupid decision, when he had torn his life in two)_. He missed this, standing with Hogun who, unlike Fandral or Volstagg or Sif, never felt the need to fill the quiet with words. Missed the friend he’d known since they were both children, missed having Hogun’s stoic presence at his side.

He wondered if this was how Loki felt, as what had been childhood friendship and affection had slowly turned to malice and hate.

Speaking slowly, choosing his words carefully _(quashing hard the wish that Loki were there to speak for him)_ , Thor said, “What Loki did to you… it was wrong. But you must know that he would have been within his rights to kill you many times over, for what you and Sif said about him.”

Hogun’s mouth thinned, but after a moment he said, “Yes.”

“I know you cannot forgive my brother for what he did,” Thor continued, “and perhaps you will hate me the more for saying it, but I am glad he spared your life.” Hogun’s dark eyes slid toward him, and Thor added quietly, “At least you are alive to hate me.”

He wondered if Loki had felt the same, if it was for some remnant of affection that he’d saved them.

Or whether he’d found the torture of mental control a more fitting payment for the lifetime of torment they had inflicted upon him.

Pain and grief rose again in Thor’s heart, dark and knotted and not something he could release in combat. He sighed, and dared put out a hand to grip Hogun’s shoulder. Hogun didn’t respond, but neither did he pull away, and Thor turned, slogging through the mud of the sparring field toward the barracks to get cleaned up.

*             *             *

Two days later, Thor was sitting around a fire with Volstagg and Fandral, playing dice with Pop-Tarts as their bets, when the door opened and Hogun stepped in. He hesitated for a moment in the doorway, but then crossed the room to take a seat beside Fandral. He didn’t have any Pop-Tarts, but the elven honey bread he added to the pot was just as good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this week, because Hogun doesn't talk much. (If this was a movie, at least 50% of their conversation would be replaced by meaningful manly looks.)


	5. I've Changed

Hogun had always been the most sensible of the Warriors Three, so it was perhaps not surprising when he pointed out that now that they knew it was not a thief but Loki himself taking things from his rooms, there was no reason for Fandral or Volstagg to continue their watches. It was Thor who wanted to speak to him, so if he was not there if or when Loki returned, there was little point in the others interrupting Loki – and possibly angering him enough to not come back.

So Thor kept up his watch on Loki’s rooms on the nights he was on Asgard, and spent time on Earth with the Avengers, and threw dice or drank ale in the evenings with the Three on Asgard. He knew that even if his brother did choose to return after their last encounter, the odds were against him seeing Loki again. Despite Thor’s efforts, he was still away from Asgard more often than he was home, either on diplomatic missions for Odin or on business with the Avengers. But he noticed no more books or trinkets disappearing from Loki’s rooms, and tried to convince himself that he was not missing his brother’s visits, but that Loki had simply not returned yet.

Still, despite his hopes, Thor was surprised when only a few weeks later, the voice of Tony’s invisible servant in his ear woke him. He’d been having a pleasant, if somewhat confusing, dream about killing dark elves with Jane while Loki argued with Tony about something incomprehensible in the background; and it took him a few minutes to realize that Jarvis’s voice speaking over it all came from the waking world. Thor opened his eyes to the dim golden glow of Loki’s witchlights, and hope flared painfully in his chest.

Shadows flickered across the bedroom as Loki paced – not in the workroom as Thor had expected, but in the outer study beyond it, where Loki kept mostly history books and political treatises meant to impress visitors. Thor sat up and swung his feet to the floor, head cocked to listen, but whatever Loki was doing kept him too occupied to notice Thor’s movements. Thor made it all the way through the workroom to the doorway into the study without catching Loki’s attention, and leaned against the jamb nonchalantly for almost a minute, watching Loki flip through the pages of an ancient journal and pace restlessly around the study, muttering to himself.

Finally Loki noticed him, freezing in surprise for a moment before his eyes narrowed. “How are you waking up?” he demanded irritably. “You can usually sleep through a bilgesnipe stampede. And I told you to stay out of my rooms.”

Thor let himself smile a little – elder brothers had to have _some_ secrets, after all. Instead of answering, he said, “What are you up to this time? I thought you were teaching magic to a king.”

“I _was_ ,” Loki snapped – though the annoyance in his voice was not directed at Thor this time – “but Prince Adale has absolutely the _worst_ possible timing of any creature in the history of the Krosmos, and I should very much like his head on a pike.” He snapped the journal closed and flung it onto a shelf with a huff, then stalked over to a different bookshelf and began rooting through a stack of neatly-bound scrolls.

Just like before, the whole scene was so _normal_ it hurt. Thor could not count the times he had watched Loki pace and rant about the latest stupidity of this ambassador or that noble, too tangled up in his own webs of manipulation to notice the fond smile on Thor’s face. Trying to keep his voice casual, as if this was just another of those times, Thor asked, “Why is that?”

Loki didn’t answer right away, opening a scroll to peer at the text before growling wordlessly and tossing it back on the stack. A second scroll apparently passed muster, for Loki snatched it off the shelf and crossed the room to fling himself sideways onto the chaise lounge in the very deportment of high drama. “ _Because_ ,” and his voice was as dramatically affronted as his posture, “New Sufokians as a whole are a bitter, greedy, conniving, and unfortunately dogged lot and Adale is the worst of all of them.” He paused to tug open the scroll and scan it. “He is utterly _determined_ to have his way, politics and niceties and, oh, _all_ the other nations _including_ those from which he is requesting help, be damned.” He flung himself backward along the lounge, arms flying up to thump piteously above his head.

Thor grinned. Loki being this ridiculously melodramatic meant that despite his complaints, he was truly enjoying himself on some intricate political intrigue, and Thor was glad to see it. He left the doorway to follow Loki to the couch, and plucked the scroll from his brother’s fingers where it dangled precariously close to falling on the ground. Loki gave him a halfhearted upside-down glare, but let him take it; Thor set it on a shelf, safely out of the way.

He sat down on the end of the chaise – Loki pulled his hands out of the way just in time – watching his brother’s face for… There. He saw it, the moment when Loki remembered that these were not the old times, that he was supposed to be mad at Thor. Saw the darkening of Loki’s expression, the flash of anger in his eyes, and Thor said quickly, “Tell me about Prince Adale. Why is his timing so terrible?”

Loki stared at him for a long moment, the conflict on his face clear even upside down. Thor bit his tongue hard, swallowed back the protestations, the pleas to continue, to return to how things had once been. _Listen_. Kept his own expression open, interested, and tried to hide how his pulse thudded in his chest, fear and frustration and a thin thread of hope tangled in a terrible pounding rhythm.

Then Loki swallowed and looked away, one fist opening and closing in a wrenchingly familiar gesture. “He seems to think,” he said, and if his voice was subdued, the extravagant melodrama gone, at least he was still talking, “that _now_ of all times is the perfect time for New Sufokia to announce itself to the world and push in its terribly undiplomatic way for recognition as a nation.” He met Thor’s eyes again, his voice dripping sarcasm. “And by ‘terribly undiplomatic’, I mean ‘threatening to level any nation which refuses to pay it homage’.”

“Can they do it?” Thor asked. He was determined to keep Loki talking, to not give him time to be upset, to keep him from bursts of that sudden sharp fury. It was a tactic Thor had used before, when they were young and Loki was mad at him: get him talking about something he enjoyed, something he was passionate about, and more often than not he would forget the upset altogether. But the chasm between them had never been half so terrible as it was now, nor half so deep and lasting, and would not be so easily cast aside. 

That didn’t mean he wouldn’t try.

Loki answered his question with a shrug. “From what Yugo and the Brotherhood have said about their army, maybe. Amakna is peaceful, and would go down without a fight. Bonta and Brakmar would try to resist, but without having seen either’s army in action I couldn’t say. Joris, of course, insists Bonta would prevail, but the nobles pay him to say that. The Sadida alone might not do well, but at the moment they have three dragons, two Eliatropes, and me, and I have no doubt—” He was interrupted by his stomach growling, loud and insistent, and he scowled for a moment before continuing. “—that we could hold our own.”

“I’m sure you could,” Thor agreed. “When was the last time you ate?” he added, mostly out of habit. It was not uncommon for Loki to forget to eat (or sleep) for days at a time, especially when he was this caught up in his puppeteering, and it had always fallen to Thor to ensure he got fed.

“Earlier,” Loki said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. Which meant “yesterday” at best and “I don’t remember” at worst, and Thor sighed inwardly. So many things might have changed between them, but this had not—and, perhaps, was something Thor could use as a peace offering.

Loki was still talking, entirely unconcerned by such mundane things as eating: “My biggest worry is that fear for Amakna will pressure King Sheran Sharm into capitulating, and with both the Sadida Kingdom and Amakna—What are you doing?”

This last as Thor reached along the wall to where a drawstring hung, which would summon a servant to Loki’s rooms. “Getting food,” Thor said. He was trying for guileless, but from the way Loki’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, hadn’t quite made it.

“I’m fine,” Loki said sharply. He sat up, eyeing Thor as if debating whether to knock his hand away from the cord.

“You should eat,” Thor retorted, and tugged the cord, producing a distant bell-chime. Loki was on his feet in the same instant, his entire body tensed as if for a fight, and Thor suddenly feared that he’d pushed too far, too hard, allowed familiarity to get the better of him. His mouth dry, he asked, “What’s wrong with that?” 

“I would rather not have the servants know I’m here,” Loki snapped. “The moment they know, the whole palace will know. You’re already living in my rooms and breathing down my neck, I don’t need any overenthusiastic would-be warriors lurking in here hoping to gain the prestige of slaying a frost giant.”

Frustration boiled up inside Thor, everything he’d been trying to hold in check in order to keep up the charade of normalcy. He stood as well, reaching to grab Loki and shake him, but Loki skipped back out of his grasp and Thor’s hands closed on empty air. “Don’t _say_ that!” Thor shouted. “That’s not what we think! That’s not what _anyone_ thinks!” Loki raised an eyebrow, his skepticism almost a tangible thing, and Thor amended reluctantly, “Well, not anyone sane or halfway intelligent.” He reached again for Loki, to cup his neck, but again Loki stepped back, face twisting for a moment into a snarl, and the rejection stabbed into Thor’s heart. More quietly, he said, “Loki, you’re a _hero_ —”

“I am _Jotun_ ,” Loki hissed, his voice low and filled with venom. “You yourself would have gleefully slaughtered me just a few years—”

A knock at the door interrupted him, and Thor was grateful for it; he didn’t think he could stop himself much longer from beating some sense into his brother. Loki’s eyes had widened and Thor pointed toward the door to the workroom. “They don’t have to see you,” he whispered. Loki spared a moment to glare at him, but disappeared into the shadows of the workroom _(and Thor tried not to think how easy it would be for Loki to disappear in truth, to step through a gap in reality and be once more out of Thor’s reach)_.

Shoving those thoughts down, Thor pulled open the hall door to find a servant bowing. “I am hungry,” Thor told him. “Bring something bracing to eat. A good Vanir cheese, perhaps, and fruit, and some fresh bread with gravy.” It wasn’t an unusual request – it certainly wasn’t the first time Thor had summoned food in the middle of the night, though he did it less often now than when he was younger and still growing – and the servant bowed again and hurried off down the hall.

Thor closed the door and leaned against it for a moment. He was afraid to turn, afraid to find that Loki had gone and once again left nothing but painful words between them. He made himself turn anyway, cursing the way his heart skipped a beat when he did not see Loki immediately. Thor had told him to hide; of course he would not be visible. He moved forward, through the workroom – no Loki, and his fists clenched at his sides in useless fear-worry-anger – and into the bedroom.

Loki wasn’t there, either.

The grief and frustration broke free and he slammed a fist into the wall with a curse. He should never have turned his back, never let Loki out of his sight—

“So gullible,” Loki scoffed, and Thor jumped, whirling to see him leaning casually against the bed. His expression was derisive, but Thor could see the playful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Ass,” Thor said. His heart was pounding in his chest and he wasn’t sure whether it was from surprise or relief.

Loki raised an eyebrow. “Midgardian insults,” he said. “Uncreative Midgardian insults at that. Your standards are slipping.” But his smile widened, just a little, and when Thor crossed the room to lean on the edge of the bed next to him, he didn’t move away. Green eyes flicked between Thor’s fist and the small but noticeable dent in the wall where he’d hit it. “Have you gone soft?” Loki asked, all innocent curiosity. “Time was you’d have put a hole straight through the wall. And then complained of splinters in your hand.”

“Mayhap I got tired of having splinters in my hand,” Thor retorted. “And you’re one to talk – that was a paltry trick. Hardly worthy of the name. Where are the illusory attackers? The visions of other realms? The swarms of poultry?”

Loki snorted. “If I’d known you wanted poultry, I would have asked Princess Amalia to raid the royal dragoturkey stables.”

“Wait,” Thor said. “A princess now? And a prince and a king – no, there were two kings. Just how many royals are you consorting with?”

“Too many,” Loki said with an exasperated sigh. “Somehow the World of Twelve has managed to crowd more forms of nobility and rulers onto a single world than can be found in the entire Nine Realms.”

“And you’re in the middle of it, aren’t you,” Thor said fondly.

“Only because most of them couldn’t find their manhood with a map, both hands, and an eager lady leading the way.” Loki rolled his eyes.

“Including that Prince Adale?”

“Actually, no,” Loki admitted. “He’s worryingly shrewd, for all that he puts on airs. I was hoping to fetch my copy of Buri’s journals from the times when the Nine Realms were first being consolidated under the throne of Asgard, to gain some insight into how to negotiate with Adale. If memory serves, it has a fascinating description of the negotiations between Asgard and the dwarves, when they wanted to break from the svartalves and form their own nation. But I can’t find it.”

“Oh,” Thor said. “That’s on the shelf over there.” He gestured to the opposite side of the study from where Loki had been looking; when he turned back to his brother Loki was giving him a strange look. “…I saw it a few months ago when I was looking for your book on etiquette in Alfheim.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed. “ _Why_ were you looking for my etiquette book?”

“I, uh,” Thor hedged. “Father has me heading the negotiations with the elves, only I’m not getting anywhere—”

“ _You’re_ doing diplomatic work?” Loki asked incredulously.

Thor hunched his shoulders, aware that he was blushing and feeling like an idiot. “You don’t have to sound so surprised,” he muttered. Except they both knew that before _(before Jotunheim, before Asgard had lost its best diplomat)_ , the only times Odin had ever sent Thor to do anything remotely diplomatic were when he needed to impress someone by sending both his sons; it had always been Loki who’d handled the actual discussions.

“The elves aren’t even—” Loki shook his head, caught between incredulity and exasperation. “What, exactly, are you trying to negotiate?”

Thor hesitated, but there was no point in prevaricating; Loki would have it out of him in minutes. “In the war… A lot of craftsmen died, and even those who survived, most of their work was destroyed by the Chitauri. We’re having trouble supplying our own people, there’s nothing left to honor our trade agreements with Alfheim.” He tried not to see the dark shadow that flickered across Loki’s face at the mention of the Infinity War, and continued hurriedly, “But the elf lords refuse to renegotiate, even temporarily.” His fists clenched and he scowled. “I’ve no idea how to make them see reason.”

“Have you given them anything?” Loki asked.

Thor blinked. “I—what?”

“That’s how I always got anything done with the elves,” Loki said. “It’s not spoken of openly, but you must offer, ah, _gifts_ to the elf lords as a sign of good will.”

“Bribery?” Thor demanded. “You’re saying I must _bribe_ them?”

Loki rolled his eyes again. “Yes, if you want to phrase it so, you must bribe them. But they consider it neither underhanded nor dishonorable, and won’t negotiate without it. I’d recommend trinkets from Midgard, something simple but attractive. The older lords especially appreciate novelty.” He paused, considering. “Also, don’t give any two of them the same thing; they get jealous.”

“All right,” Thor said. “What else should I—”

A knock at the suite’s outer door made them both jump, and they traded self-conscious grins – they’d forgotten the servant would be coming back with food. This time, when Thor hurried to answer the door, he didn’t fear that Loki would disappear the moment Thor looked away. He took the laden tray from the servant, closed the door behind him, and headed back to the bedroom, only to pause halfway through the workroom.

Framed by the doorway in the dim gold witchlight, Loki was sitting on his bed, one hand tracing the patterns of a woolen blanket that had been woven for him by Frigga when he was young. The expression on Loki’s face was reflective, almost sad; then he looked up at Thor and his expression smoothed over to that neutral blankness which he’d also got from Frigga. Thor made himself smile and came into the bedroom, sitting at the foot of the bed and setting the tray of food between them.

“Eat,” he said. “And if you’ve any other advice for negotiating with the elves, I’d appreciate hearing it.”

“Goddess knows you’ll need it,” Loki said, and flashed a sharp-edged grin, already reaching for an apple. “How far have you gotten?”

So Thor told him about his most recent trip to Alfheim and his meetings with the elf lords, while Loki set to the food with an appetite that belied his earlier disinterest. Thor had always known Loki was a naturally-talented diplomat, considered by most to be among the best in the Realms even despite the whispers of _seiðmaðr_ and _nīðing_ ; what he hadn’t realized was just how much _work_ was behind that talent. Loki knew a remarkable amount of detail about each of the elf lords, and spelled out for Thor exactly what he’d have to do to win each over to his side. Thor rather wished he could take notes, but Loki talked far too quickly for that, and anyway Thor still had to nudge food in his brother’s direction on occasion, when he got too caught up in what he was saying.

Eventually Loki’s voice began to soften, his words slurring at the edges and his body listing a little to the side as the food and the late hour together conspired to send him to sleep. This, too, was just like old times, for Loki had always been able to talk long past his body’s ability to stay awake. Thor moved the now-empty tray to a side table and caught Loki before he fell over, easing him onto the bed and tugging the woven blanket over him. Loki murmured a vague protest but didn’t wake, and when his golden witchlights winked out Thor knew he was well and truly asleep.

For a minute Thor just sat in the dark, watching the darker shape that was his brother. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt, whether this was a victory, whether he’d only managed to delay the inevitable argument _(remembered the venom in Loki’s voice as he hissed, “You yourself would have gleefully slaughtered me”)_. Yet Loki hadn’t left, had spoken a little of his new life and shared his knowledge of Alfheim politics, and maybe, just maybe, this encounter wouldn’t end in painful words and ugly memories. Thor debated briefly returning to his own rooms to sleep, but if he was honest with himself there really was no question. He rounded to the other side of the bed and slipped beneath the furs and blankets, and for the first time in years Thor fell asleep to the steady rhythm of his brother’s breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! The holiday weekend was really busy, and I didn't have as much writing time as I'd hoped. Plus, this chapter ended up being the Long Chapter of Difficult and Awkward Conversations, and I had to do a lot more editing out of on-the-nose dialogue than usual. Because manly men are manly, and discussing their issues is not a thing either of them would do (even if Thor is seeing a therapist).


	6. Promises

Thor fully expected to find Loki gone when he woke, had once again half-feared that he’d dreamed the whole thing. Yet when he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was black hair and pale fingers curled around the edge of a blanket, and Thor pushed up to his elbows to see that not only was Loki still there, he was still soundly asleep. The sight made Thor smile a little; if Loki had forgotten to eat he had likely also forgotten to sleep, and it was no wonder that his body had decided to enforce its needs.

And if the only thing he’d eaten lately was last night’s late snack, he would likely be hungry again when he woke – which meant that if Thor ensured breakfast was waiting, Loki might stay a little longer. The drawstring in this room hung over the bed, where it would be easy to reach without needing to rise, and Thor rang the code for _bring breakfast_. It shouldn’t take long; the kitchens were always bustling in the morning and the royal family had priority. Mindful not to wake his brother, Thor slipped out of bed and padded through the suite to wait by the door.

Centuries ago, when they were children, Loki had developed a knack for listening at the door for footsteps in the hall beyond. Everyone had different ways of walking – warriors clanked and stomped, noblewomen had a particular swish of fabric, scholars tended to walk at a slower and more thoughtful pace, and servants could be identified by their soft but purposeful movements. He’d used the trick mostly to unnerve people, opening his door just as someone was about to knock, or calling to servants who thought they were passing unnoticed. After the first three times he’d caught Thor in it, Thor had made Loki promise not to use it on him any more, much to Loki’s disappointment – but Thor had also convinced Loki to teach him how to do it. (For a while they’d made a sport of spooking passers-by, until Frigga found out and set them to weeding her gardens as punishment.)

Now, Thor set his ear against the door and listened for the pad of footsteps that meant a servant was approaching with breakfast. He didn’t want a knock to wake Loki, didn’t want him startling awake and disappearing in a panic. As he’d thought, he didn’t have to wait long; only a few minutes passed before he heard footsteps padding toward the door, and he pulled it open just in time to startle the serving girl outside. He plucked the tray of food from her with a smile, and closed the door with a foot before she could offer to set it up or otherwise try to be helpful. 

When Thor returned to the bedroom, Loki was just sitting up, scrubbing sleepily at one eye, dark hair falling over his face where it had come loose from its clip while he slept. He paused mid-motion to stare suspiciously at Thor and the tray, and finally said, “Are you trying to bribe me?”

“Would it work?” Thor asked.

“No,” Loki said, but he was already reaching out a hand for the food, and Thor set the tray beside him on the bed.

The cooks, like nearly everyone else in the palace, knew that Thor had taken to sleeping in Loki’s rooms, so the breakfast was tailored to Thor’s tastes – sweet pastries and grains, tart juice, and savory meats rather than the lighter – and blander – oats and breads Loki preferred. But Loki seemed not to care as he dug in, swiping the best pastries from beneath Thor’s hand and even trying a couple of sausages. Neither of them spoke as they ate; Thor was content to have the time with his brother, and Loki, who had never been much of a morning person, appeared to still be in the process of waking fully.

Finally Loki sat back, absently licking his fingers. “Alibert is a wonderful cook,” he said, “but he doesn’t know how to make birnbrot and I’ve never been able to explain it properly.”

“I could have our cook write down the recipe,” Thor offered, “and give it to you next time you’re here.”

Loki frowned at him. “You assume there will _be_ a next time.”

“…Won’t there?” Thor asked.

“I don’t know,” Loki said crossly. “But in any case it will not matter, because you are _not_ to sleep in here any more.”

Frustration flared up in Thor’s chest. “Then how else am I supposed to see you?” he demanded.

He was glaring at Loki, so he saw the flicker of surprise that crossed his brother’s face before Loki got his expression under control; and for the first time it occurred to Thor that perhaps Loki didn’t _believe_ Thor wanted to see him. He reached out to grip Loki’s shoulder, and this time, still seated on the bed with his legs under the blankets, Loki couldn’t dance out of the way. Thor gave Loki a light but pointed shake. “I will make you a pact,” he said. “I shall stop sleeping in your rooms _if_ you swear that whenever you visit Asgard, you will come to see me. –It doesn’t have to be a long visit,” he added as Loki opened his mouth to object. “Just… stop by and say hello.” He moved his hand up to cup Loki’s neck, wanting more than anything to embrace him and knowing that was the worst thing he could do. “So that I can see with my own eyes that you are well.”

Loki stared at him for a long moment, this time not bothering to hide his surprise, and Thor knew he’d been right – Loki honestly thought Thor didn’t care, had been trying to figure out his ulterior motive for stalking Loki without ever quite realizing that Loki himself was what Thor sought. He gave Loki another shake. “Will you swear?”

“I…” Loki said, and swallowed; when he spoke again his voice was steadier. “All right. If you promise to stay out of my rooms, I promise that, time and circumstance permitting, I shall come to see you when I visit Asgard.”

It was a true Loki promise – Thor didn’t think his brother was capable of making a promise without adding in several loopholes for himself – but it was as good as he was going to get, and far better than he’d expected. He tightened his grip for a moment, then let go.

Loki shook himself, dismissing the conversation, and stretched languidly. “In any case,” he said, “I must be going. Jahanna is probably wondering whether she needs to come break me out of a prison cell.”

“I suspect she knows by know that you are far too cunning to land in a prison cell without meaning to,” Thor said, and Loki shot him a narrow-eyed look. Thor responded with his best innocent face, and added, “How is Jahanna? Are you two still, ah…”

He gestured awkwardly, and with an amused smile Loki supplied, “Lovers? Yes.” Loki hesitated, then added, “She’s well. Even busier than I, between caring for Chibi, teaching Yugo, and serving as the chief Eliatrope ambassador, but she enjoys it.”

“Good,” Thor said, and meant it; Loki had seemed happy with Jahanna.

“And you?” Loki asked. His voice was casual, but Thor knew his brother enough to recognize the tension beneath. “Do you still pursue your mortal maid, or has Sif re-staked her claim on you, now I’m out of the way?”

Thor had had his mouth open to tell Loki about Jane, but the second part of the question stopped him, and he frowned. “You were never _in_ the way when it came to Sif,” Thor said, “and no, I’ll have nothing to do with her now I know how she treated you.”

That, in turn, seemed to bring Loki up short; his mouth snapped shut and he stared at Thor for a moment with the expression that meant Thor had missed something terribly obvious. Finally Loki said, “Iop-brain. Of course I was in the way, as far as she was concerned.”

“Iop-brain? Is that an insult?” Thor asked, because he didn’t want to think about how Sif could possibly have thought that she was somehow competing with Loki for Thor’s affection.

“Yes,” Loki said, and slid off the bed to pace in agitation. “—Actually, no. No. To call you a Iop-brain would be an insult to _Iops_. And I thought Pinpin was bad.” He shook his head, sending his hair flying across his face; he shoved it absently behind one ear. “Apparently two years’ absence was enough to allow me to forget how exceedingly _dense_ you are—”

“—because I still cannot see how you could possibly have been in the way?” Thor interrupted, amused but also fiercely glad that Loki had slid into melodrama rather than the splintered madness which Thor had feared.

Loki whirled on him and flashed that sharp-edged smile. “Think on it, son of Odin,” he said, and if his voice was teasing there was a darker edge behind it. “If you can wrap your noble mind around such a thing, then perhaps you will someday even be able to manage the subtleties of diplomacy which so determinedly elude you.” Then the fey mood vanished as swiftly as it had come, and he dropped onto the bed beside Thor once more. “Thor,” he said, the gentleness in his voice a stark contrast to the sharpness of a moment before, “Sif has been your closest friend since childhood. Do not throw that away for my sake.”

Thor could not quite resist reaching out to cup Loki’s neck once more, pulling him a little closer. “ _You_ have been my closest friend my whole life.”

“I was your brother,” Loki said, rolling his eyes.

“Are,” Thor corrected, giving him a pointed shake. “You _are_ my brother.”

Loki waved a hand dismissively, as if the distinction didn’t matter. “Regardless,” he said, “I have already taken the vengeance owed me for her words.” For just an instant his eyes went dark and empty, the void still lurking at the edges of his soul, and Thor tightened his grip on Loki’s neck as if that would be enough to keep him from plunging into those terrible depths once more. Then Loki’s eyes cleared and he smiled crookedly. “Sif is a good warrior, and she will make a great queen for you someday.”

Thor scowled at him. “And if I want to make Jane Foster my queen?”

“Then,” Loki said, and his crooked grin widened, turned wicked, “you had better make sure she does not drive a large carriage around Asgard, for your own vanity’s sake. Or you had better learn how to dodge something the size of a small barn.”

He winked, then stood up again while Thor sputtered. “I really must be going,” Loki said. “Remember, you promised to stay out of my rooms.”

“And you promised to visit,” Thor reminded him. Loki just rolled his eyes again and moved into the open space in the center of the room, his hands raised to cast the spell that would carry him away. Thor added, “It was good to see you again, brother.”

Loki snorted. “Sentiment,” he said, and vanished.

But not before Thor saw the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For you non-Wakfus, Iop (that's a capital i, not a lowercase L; thank you non-differentiating fonts) is pronounced "yop".


	7. I Was A Fool

Armed with Loki’s extensive diplomatic insight, Thor immediately made plans to resume the stalled negotiations with the elf lords regarding Asgard’s trade agreements. It took him nearly three months on Alfheim, attending private dinners, offering gifts of Earth trinkets, and wracking his brain to puzzle out the many layers lurking beneath the elves’ words – but by the date of his return to Asgard, he had secured a temporary stay in the agreement in order to allow Asgard time to resupply itself and rebuild from the war, while still receiving a minimum of support from the elves. He was certain he’d missed some things, certain Loki could have done much better (would have won a longer stay, would have talked the elves into providing extra support), but since at least Asgard no longer faced a crippling deficit, Thor counted it a success.

Still, the experience once again drove home just how much Loki had done for Asgard, quietly and behind the scenes, off alone on diplomatic missions while Thor and Sif and the Three had played warriors’ games or run off on adventures. Thor had always thought he was doing the right thing, training to be a great warrior and king while Loki wasted time eating fancy dinners with stuffy old men – yet he was beginning to realize that it had been exactly the other way around. Loki had been doing what was needed to keep a kingdom running smoothly, and all Thor had done was collect trophies and tales.

The thought nagged at him during his last days on Alfheim and on the journey home, surrounded by the lesser nobles, guards, servants, and hangers-on that made up a prince’s retinue (and there were times, he would swear, that simply getting such a large group of people moving in unison took far more work than they were there to save). It was almost dinnertime when they reached the palace, and despite having done little save sit atop a horse since the farewell brunch with the elves, Thor’s stomach was growling. He could have gone to find Fandral and Volstagg and Hogun, to share a meal and stories of Alfheim in one of the public dining halls; normally, he would have. But this time, he headed for the royal family’s wing.

The jobs of a king and queen were not easy ones, and often while Thor was growing up, his parents ate dinner as part of various official functions, parties, political meetings, and other events. But whenever possible, Odin and Frigga had made a point of sharing meals with their sons. After Loki’s fall from the Bifrost, before the Infinity War, the sight of the empty chair where Loki should have sat had been too much for them, and the dinners had stopped. Odin had tried to reinstate them after the Infinity War, to hold together what was left of his family. But Frigga would not attend, torn with grief for her lost son and furious for Odin’s part in his suffering. Thor had gone once, but could not stand to eat a whole meal with his father in awkward silence, neither of them able to speak of the things they should have, neither of them willing to speak of aught else with such heavy matters unresolved, and after that Thor had taken his meals elsewhere.

But he knew Odin still held the invitation open, and ate dinner alone in the family’s dining room every night.

So Thor headed to the royal family’s wing, catching a servant along the way to send ahead and prepare the table with an additional place. It didn’t take him long to wash and dress for dinner, and he was already seated at the table when Odin entered the room.

The surprise, the warring joy and fear, that flickered across his father’s face when Odin saw him sent a surge of guilt through Thor. He could almost hear the mind-healer’s voice in his head: _ignoring those close to you, however unintentionally, was what brought you to where you are now_ , yet Thor had been ignoring Odin – actively avoiding him, save for business of the Realms – since the Infinity War. He made himself smile, made himself say, “Good evening, Father.”

“Good evening, Thor,” Odin answered, and the note of caution in his voice was so like the way Loki spoke lately, that Thor almost looked around for his brother. “My secretary tells me your trip to Alfheim went well,” Odin continued, taking his seat at the head of the table as the servants began to lay out platters of food. He probably meant it as small talk, a safe topic of conversation when there were so many other things they couldn’t say. Which was what Thor had been counting on.

Perhaps he was finally, finally, learning from Loki after all.

“Yes, it went very well,” Thor said, and hesitated. Normally he was terrible at lying, as Loki had loved to point out, but he had considered this lie, had rehearsed it inside his head, and it came out sounding surprisingly natural. “I came across some of Loki’s journals from his trips to Alfheim. I… learned a great deal.” Odin’s face went carefully blank at the mention of Loki’s name; the servants, who had been bustling around them, all seemed to have suddenly found their feet extremely interesting. Thor plowed ahead anyway: “He was – is – very good at… at that kind of thing. At negotiations. Bargaining. Diplomacy.” Again he hesitated, but it needed to be said. “Running a kingdom.”

Odin’s mouth thinned for a moment, and he signaled for the servants to leave. They did, stealing nervous glances over their shoulders, near tripping over themselves to escape what they surely thought would be a terrible and bitter argument. Only when the door had closed behind the last of them did Odin’s expression soften, and he sighed heavily. “Yes,” he agreed. “He is. Many’s the time I relied upon his skill and silver tongue to turn negotiations in our favor.” His one eye fixed on Thor, tired and aching but still the knowing, canny gaze of the All-Father.

“Then,” Thor said carefully, “if Loki has done so much for Asgard, if he was so good at keeping her running…” One more hesitation, for this was the most difficult part, the most dangerous and the hardest to say, but he’d got this far and damned if he would stop now. “Why did you intend to name me crown prince, before Jotunheim?” he asked in a rush. “Why not Loki, when he would have been so much better at it?”

Odin sighed again, his eye closing with old sorrow. “Because,” he said quietly, “in my foolish arrogance, I never dreamed that he would leave your side.”

Thor frowned; that was not the answer he was expecting. “I… don’t understand,” he said.

Odin’s eye opened and fixed on Thor once again. “Loki is very good at running a kingdom,” he said. “But you, my son, are good at _leading_.” Thor’s confusion must have shown on his face, because Odin continued, “Loki is skilled at manipulating people, at working with and for and against them. But he does not _draw_ people to him as you do. He could have ruled, yes. But… before the war, too many thought of him as…”

“Unworthy,” Thor filled in softly, the word ugly in his mouth.

Odin winced, but nodded. “Yes. Any reign of Loki’s would have been filled with unrest and discontent, as those who saw him as unfit sought to have him replaced.”

Thor thought about what he’d pieced together of the events on Asgard while he’d been exiled to Earth. How the very first thing Sif and the Warriors Three had done, upon learning that Loki sat lawfully on the throne while Odin slept, had been to defy his orders and try to fetch Thor from exile. How Heimdall had helped, and though Heimdall’s allegiance was not strictly to the throne of Asgard, still he should have shown respect for the sitting king’s orders. How Thor himself had seen nothing wrong with defying his own brother’s decree – though it had been merely an echo of their father’s – to return to Asgard at the first opportunity.

He looked up to see Odin watching him, blue eye knowing, and yet again guilt stabbed through Thor’s chest. “Yes,” Odin said, as if he’d seen Thor’s thoughts. “But you, my son… you draw people to your banner as a flame draws moths. It is a talent of yours. One you should be proud of, that so many would so willingly follow you.” He looked away. “I had thought that, if I put you on the throne, Asgard would rally under your rule. And Loki would be always at your right hand, free to do what he has always done to keep the Nine Realms running smoothly.”

Thor stared at him for a moment, trying to understand what Odin meant – and then he got it. Something cold and ugly twisted in his stomach, the realization that what he’d thought had been a great honor, being named crown prince and heir to the throne, had been granted not because of his adventures and conquests, but in spite of them. That Odin had not believed him worthy of the duties of the throne – merely its face.

 _Yet_ , said a voice in the back of his mind that sounded suspiciously like Loki’s, _can you blame him? You did not even know the names of the men who would have been your council, could not have spoken with any intelligence of the day-to-day complexities of ruling a kingdom, would not have bothered to tend to a king’s duties when you could be carousing instead—_

A crack and a splash and a sharp pain across Thor’s palm, and he looked down to see that he’d snapped the stem of his goblet in his clenched fist. Wine spilled onto the tablecloth, dark purple like the void that had swallowed Loki, had swallowed everything Thor had thought he’d known, everything he’d thought was true and right. He really was learning from Loki, from his mortal companions who schemed and plotted as a matter of course, _(from Odin)_ , for he could see with sudden sharp clarity what Loki had probably known since the moment Thor’s coronation had been announced.

“I would have been a figurehead,” Thor said flatly, his voice cracking under the weight, “and Loki relegated to the shadows, doing all the work with none of the credit.” He looked up at his father; Odin was watching him with a terrible grief etched across his face.

“I made a mistake,” Odin whispered. Age echoed through his words, age and exhaustion and grief. “I made so many mistakes…” His voice trailed off, and he bowed his head to his hands. “This is the burden of a king. –No,” he said, and shuddered. “This is the burden of a father.”

Thor didn’t know what to say to that, wasn’t sure if there was anything he _could_ say. He had known Odin was not proud of what he had done, had known that the splintering of their family weighed on him so that he made fewer and fewer public appearances and spent more time alone and grieving – but for the All-Father to show such weakness, to openly admit how wrong he had been…

Thor pushed back his chair and stood, circling the table to place a hand on his father’s shoulder. He could feel Odin trembling, knew that he wept for what he had done, what he had lost. There were no words to ease his conscience, any more than there were words to assuage Thor’s own guilt over how he’d treated his brother. So Thor said nothing, and they grieved together in silence while wine the color of the void dripped slowly onto the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ouch. Writing this chapter was like pulling teeth with greased tweezers and no anaesthesia. I'm starting to feel like I went off the rails somewhere with this story, but I'm not sure where or how. Maybe it's just because this part of the series is much more talky, angst-filled, and slowly paced than J'entre; or maybe I'm getting the characterization wrong; or maybe the Real-Life Issues I'm dealing with have just put me in entirely the wrong headspace; or maybe I'm just overthinking things. What do you guys think? Taking into account that the characters are intended to show at least _some_ character development over the course of the series, am I still on track? Or have I gone horribly wrong?


	8. Sif

Thor had thought to go straight to his rooms after dinner, but the conversation with Odin had left him restless, wound up and aching for a real enemy against whom he could lash out. But it was ghosts that plagued him, ghosts of the past and their terrible words, and not even that mightiest of weapons, Gungnir, could strike such foes. So Thor prowled the halls, barely noticing the servants who fled at his approach, until finally he found Fandral and Volstagg sprawled around a roaring fire in a side chamber, tending their weapons.

They looked up at Thor’s entrance, and though Fandral frowned slightly, only Volstagg spoke, and then only to say, “Welcome back. Pull up a chair, I could use a hand.” He was attempting to file a particularly ugly notch from his axe, so Thor did as he asked, settling the haft across his knees and bracing the weapon so Volstagg could more easily wield the file.

At first Thor thought they had somehow not noticed his foul mood, but then he saw the glance they traded, and realized that they simply had the sense not to speak up. He was almost annoyed, almost disappointed that he would not be able to pick a fight with them – but, to his surprise, found that he was mostly just grateful. He had nearly lost them once already, if not to his own stupidity then to the results of it, and he did not want to push them away again with petty fits of temper. So he listened to the steady rasp of the file against the blade of Volstagg’s axe, breathed in the scent of the oil Fandral rubbed along his sword, and slowly the impotent rage faded.

Then the door slammed open.

They all startled, half-raising the weapons they’d been tending; but it was only Hogun, who stalked into the room to drop onto a couch in grim silence. Thor looked over to Volstagg and Fandral in confusion - it was rare for Hogun to be so openly upset - but they wore the same guarded expressions as when Thor himself had stormed in. Fandral said carefully, “That bad?”

Hogun huffed.

“What?” Thor demanded, for their bearing suggested something terrible. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Hogun said, but at the same time Volstagg said, “It’s Sif,” and Hogun glared at him.

“Sif?” Thor asked. “What of her?”

Hogun just growled, gaze fixed determinedly on the blazing fire. Thor looked to Fandral and then to Volstagg, waiting; finally Volstagg said, “Well, ah, she...” and then stopped, looking to Fandral for help.

Fandral scowled at him, but finally turned to Thor and said, “Sif is... Er. Everyone knows she’s, ah, fallen out of your favor, and the queen’s.”

He hesitated, and Volstagg said with careful diplomacy, “She is a woman and a warrior, and moreover she, er, stepped on quite a few toes to reach her position. There are many who are glad she no longer enjoys the favor of the royal house.”

“Many who speak against her openly,” Hogun added bitterly. “Many who would see her fall, or hasten it themselves.”

Thor frowned. He’d known Sif had enemies; for a woman to be a warrior on par with the greatest of Asgard’s heroes had been nigh-unheard of before she fought her way through the ranks. He’d also known that long ago, there had been rumors that she’d won her place at Thor’s side not by her skill on the battlefield, but rather her skill in the bedroom - but he’d thought those rumors thoroughly quashed in the centuries since their courtship had ended. And he’d heard no such whispers since the Infinity War, nothing to suggest that such unfounded malice had crept back.

But he hadn’t noticed how Sif had tormented Loki, either.

“...Thor?” Volstagg said, and Thor jolted back to the present. His friends were watching him with wide-eyed concern, and he looked down to realize that he had come to his feet and was holding Volstagg’s axe in a white-knuckled grip. He looked away from them, made himself set the axe aside.

“Perhaps,” he muttered bitterly, “the Fates have finally seen fit to take payment for her treatment of my brother.”

“Thor--” Fandral said reproachfully.

“Is it not fitting?” Thor demanded. “She spent centuries tearing Loki down. I see not why I should care that she dislikes the blow of her own weapon.”

“Thor,” Volstagg said, “I know you’re angry with her, but she’s your friend. Our friend. Do all our years together mean nothing to you?”

“All those years,” Thor snapped, “are all the years she did everything in her power to destroy my brother. I may be guilty of blindness, for not seeing what was happening right before my eyes, but it was her actions, her words, that drove Loki to--”

“He was already mad!” Hogun snarled, coming to his feet right in front of Thor. “You may love him but you cannot deny what he is! Do not blame Sif for--”

Thor punched him, feeling bone crunch beneath his fist, and would have hit him again if Fandral and Volstagg hadn’t leaped forward to grab him by the arms. To Hogun, Fandral said sharply, “ _Go_ ”; Hogun hesitated for a moment, glowering, then dragged a hand over the blood on his chin and stalked out of the room. Thor tugged against his friends’ grip, more to make the point than to actually pull free, and they pushed him back into his chair. When they let go, Thor lowered his head to his hands.

A hand settled on his shoulder and he glanced through his fingers to see Volstagg’s boots beside him. “He hates to see her hurting so,” Volstagg said quietly. “So do we. --And,” he continued when Thor drew breath to retort, “had we known how Loki was suffering, we would have felt the same.”

“We do feel the same,” Fandral added, “now we know the truth of it. But... Loki was always better at hiding things than Sif.”

Thor sighed. Fandral was right - Loki had never let on how badly he was hurting, how very close he had been to the edge of madness. That Thor was only learning to see past those masks now, after the void had torn Loki apart and exposed what lay beneath, was no fault of Loki’s.

“Perhaps I should not have said anything,” Volstagg said. “But... I fear that she, too, will reach her breaking point, if things continue as they are.”

“Does it matter?” Thor said. “She will never hold Gungnir; there is little she can do.”

“Tell that to the families of whoever she kills,” Fandral said grimly.

Thor looked up at him, but there was no hint of jest in his expression; he truly feared Sif would kill if pushed far enough. “What would you have me do?” he asked, and raked his fingers back through his hair. “Issue a decree that none shall speak against the Lady Sif? I may be too stupid to be king--” remembering his conversation with Odin, hearing the bitterness in his own voice, seeing his friends wince and unable to make himself care-- “but even I know that such an order would do more harm than good.”

“...Would you at least speak with her?” Volstagg said tentatively.

“And say what?” Thor demanded. “‘I’m sorry you are suffering as you made my brother suffer’? ‘I hope you are learning your lesson’?”

“No!” Fandral said. “Just...” He traded a glance with Volstagg, then sucked in a breath and said all at once, “Loki took his revenge, it’s settled between them - can’t you settle things between you?”

Thor gritted his teeth and clenched his fists - but a memory flashed through his mind, of Loki sitting on the edge of his bed, the void in his eyes as he said _I have already taken the vengeance owed me for her words_.

The gentle earnestness in his voice when he’d said _do not throw her away for my sake_.

Thor sighed, lowering his face to his hands once more. “I don’t know,” he said heavily, and shook his head. “I do not know.”

“At least try,” Volstagg said. “Please, Thor.”

“At least try,” Thor echoed reluctantly. If either of them heard the hollowness in his voice, the shadow of the void, they said nothing. Volstagg clapped him on the shoulder, then Fandral as well, and Thor gave them both a halfhearted scowl as he pushed to his feet. Taking a deep breath, he made himself walk to the door, to the hall.

He would speak with Sif.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I missed last week's update! Life's been crazy hectic (as usual), but hopefully things are finally calming down. 
> 
> It also didn't help that I've rewritten this damn chapter at least twice to remove pod people versions of the characters - but I'm trusting you guys that I'm still on the right track.


	9. More Dearly Than Any Of You

Thor followed servants’ directions to a small, out-of-the-way sitting room where, they said, the Lady Sif had taken to spending her evenings alone. He’d worried that Hogun might have beaten him there, to seek comfort or support after his and Thor’s altercation. But evidently Hogun had instead gone to the healers’ wing to have his broken nose tended, for when Thor stepped through the door, the room was empty save for Sif.

She sat curled in a window seat, deftly applying needle to cloth to repair the under-padding of her armor. She did not look up when Thor entered the room; made no move to acknowledge him at all. Finally Thor said, “Sif.”

Only then did she lift her head, and Thor was startled to see the deep circles beneath her eyes, the hollowness of her cheeks. She stared at him for a long moment, then deliberately set fist to breast and bowed, deep and mocking, from her seat. “Your Highness,” she said coldly.

“I would have a word,” Thor said.

“Your Highness’s wish is my command,” Sif said.

Thor scowled at her. “Do not play at humility,” he said. “It does not suit you.”

“Neither do most things,” Sif retorted, “or so I am told. Have you come to gloat?”

“No,” Thor said. “Volstagg and Fandral are worried about you.”

“They can keep their worries,” Sif spat. “I am no delicate flower in need of protection.”

“That is exactly why they’re worried,” Thor said.

“I will not shame the royal house by taking unwarranted actions, if that’s what you fear.”

“What _will_ you do?” Thor asked.

Sif smiled, but it was humorless and dark. “According to _royal precedence_ , I believe I am entitled to take my detractors as slaves and subjugate them to my will.”

“What Loki did has no bearing—” Thor began heatedly, but Sif cut him off.

“Doesn’t it?” she demanded. “He did not like the truth I spoke about him, so he took unwarranted vengeance—”

“You spoke slanderous lies, and Loki would have been within his rights to kill you!” Thor snapped. “What is said about you now is cruel, but it is not what you leveled at Loki—”

“—Only because I am already a woman, so calling me one does not have the same effect,” Sif said viciously. “Semantics, Your Highness. I see no reason why I should not be allowed the same vengeance enacted upon me when I spoke the truth—”

“What you said about him was no more truth than what is said about you now!” Thor shouted. “Why do you insist on—”

“Everything I said was true!” Sif shouted back. She came to her feet, sewing cast aside, fists clenched and eyes bright with rage. “Just because _you_ insist on defending him—”

“Everything you said was _wrong_!” Thor cried. His hands, too, had clenched into fists and it was all he could do to keep from hitting her. “He’s a good man!”

“Why can’t you see the truth?” Sif screamed.

“Why can’t _you_?!” he roared, and he did swing at her then, clipping her jaw and sending her reeling - but she caught her balance and leaped at him with a howl of rage. Suddenly they were brawling, a battle of fists and knees, nails and heels, screaming over each other.

“He only wanted your friendship!”

“He cared for naught but taking your throne!”

“He never wanted the throne!”

“He wanted _everything_!”

Sif landed a blow to Thor’s gut that folded him, then slammed her knee into his jaw; he retaliated by driving a shoulder into her stomach and plowing her back into a table. They were both dressed for court, Thor in a silk tunic and leggings, Sif in a sleeveless gown, and wooden shards tore into both of them as the table shattered beneath the impact—

“Why do you refuse to see the truth of him?”

“It’s you who can’t see the truth!”

Sif kicked out to free herself and Thor felt his ribs crack at the blow. He rolled away, but grabbed her arm and dragged her with him across the floor. She flipped around and over him, which would have dislocated his shoulder had he not recognized the move from sparring with Agent Romanoff and twisted with her motion. It put her off-guard just long enough for him to swing a broken table leg at her head like a club, but she rolled with the blow and caught him a kick to the jaw that left him seeing stars—

“Why don’t you listen to us?”

“You speak lies about one I love!”

—another kick but this time Thor caught her foot and yanked, pulling her directly into a punch to the face. Sif struck back, open-handed, nails raking along the skin of his cheek deep enough to draw blood—

“Why do you still love him?”

“Because he’s my brother!”

“Why does that _matter_?!” she screamed. _“Why do you love him and not me?!”_

They both stopped short.

Sif clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide with horror at her own words. Thor just stared at her, the shock of what she meant rattling him to the core.

_Of course I was in the way, as far as she was concerned._

“Is that what you thought?” Thor whispered, his voice hollow. “That because I love my brother, I have no love for you?”

“Is it not true?” Sif demanded, but her voice wobbled and she lifted a hand to dash tears from her eyes. “You no longer wanted me in your bed, you never really did, it was only ever _Loki_ you cared about—”

“Sif,” Thor said, his heart aching, “Oh, Sif, my friend, how wrong you are...”

He reached for her, half expecting her to pull away, to start fighting again – but she didn’t move, one hand still over her mouth, tears sliding down her bruised cheeks. He caught her by the shoulders, gently; lifted a hand to brush the hair from her eyes. “You are my friend,” he murmured, “my dearest friend. Loki is my brother and I love him as my brother, but you are my friend, and I love you as much.” He let his hand settle against her jaw, thumb smoothing away the tears. “Never doubt that.”

But she turned her head from his hand and looked away. “Is that all I’ll ever be?” she asked softly. “Just a friend?”

Thor hesitated, for he had no idea how to answer. He did not love Sif as he loved Jane – though perhaps there had been such a spark many centuries ago when he had wooed her, any such flame was long gone. Yet Sif was so much more than _just_ a friend, meant so much more to him than anyone save Loki possibly could, and he hated that she could think she was somehow less.

But apparently his hesitation was answer enough, for Sif pulled away from him and rolled to her feet, straightening her dress absently. “I should know,” she said, and once again her voice was cold, “that once your mind is made up, it is no more changeable than Yggdrasil.” She turned to leave the room.

“It is not my mind that has chosen,” Thor protested to her back. “We cannot choose who we love.”

Sif stopped, her shoulders gone rigid, and Thor realized abruptly what he’d said, what it meant. He sighed, and stood up as well. “You’re right,” he said. “It will not change. It is no fault in you that makes it so, though perhaps it is a fault in me.” He hesitated again, but this was no time to mention Jane, or that Loki had suggested Thor resume wooing Sif. Choosing his words carefully, he continued, “I do not know what the future holds. But I know that you have always before been at my side, and I mislike the thought of a future without you.”

“You say that,” Sif whispered, “but I have done unforgivable things.”

He remembered the insults that had spilled from Sif’s lips since the war: _weak, womanish, nīðing, seiðmaðr, argr_. Remembered how she’d defied the lawful order of the rightful king to come for Thor on Earth, an act which under any other circumstance would have been punished as treason. Remembered the pain in Loki’s eyes, in his voice, when he’d said _Your friends. Not mine. Never mine_.

Remembered nights long ago, the six of them huddled around a campfire, sharing ale and stories and camraderie. Remembered sitting beside Sif, the two of them alone on a loveseat, whispering to each other their deepest secrets. Remembered laughing with a child’s unbounded delight, too young to imagine a life of aught but joy and play, as he and Sif and Loki danced around a fairy ring in the afternoon sunlight.

“Yes,” he whispered back. “But you are my friend.”  

She turned to look at him then, eyes shining with tears. Thor reached out to her, drew her to him and held her close. For a moment she stayed tense, rigid — then she sagged, and he felt the moment that she broke. Ugly sobs shook her body, though Thor knew not whether she cried for herself, or for him, or what had been lost between them. He did not ask, could not find the words; but it did not matter, for it was not words Sif needed now.

So he held her while she cried, and when tears came to his eyes in turn, tears he had not shed in his father’s presence (for all that had been lost, for all that could have been and would now never be, for his friend, for his brother, for himself) he did not hold them back.


	10. Frigga

The first anniversary of the Infinity War – and its precursor, Midgard’s one-year memorial for the lives lost in the Chitauri attack on New York City – had passed in a haze for Thor. He remembered the aching misery of standing with the Avengers on a stage before a crowd of Midgardians, listening to the country’s liege give a solemn speech about the bravery of the “everyday heroes” and the elite “super heroes” who together had protected the city’s people. At Thor’s insistence, SHIELD had managed to scrub Loki’s presence from public record of the attack, but it was still a special kind of torture to know that Loki had caused all those deaths, all that grief and pain and loss. It did not matter that he’d done it under duress, that he’d been manipulated by both Thanos and Odin – still it was Loki’s belief that Thor could not be bothered to come for him that had driven him to such ends. Thor remembered wondering, standing on the stage with his head bowed, whether the dead of Midgard weighed on Odin’s conscience as much as they weighed on Thor’s.

He remembered, too, helping Odin and Frigga prepare Asgard’s victory feast to celebrate the first anniversary of Thanos’s defeat — though the actual feast was mostly lost to the copious amounts of ale he’d drunk to get through the night without Loki at his side. He’d had Fandral and Volstagg, but their presence had been a jagged reminder of shattered friendships, for always before where Fandral and Volstagg went, so too did Hogun and Sif. And from what little Thor could remember, Fandral and Volstagg had been quiet, solemn, probably lost in their own memories of the horrors they’d experienced during the war. Thor could not remember whether Hogun and Sif had attended the feast at all; if they had, they’d stayed far away from him.

Though this year Hogun and Sif would be seated with Thor, Fandral, and Volstagg at the head table, Thor suspected the feast would be no less painful. He’d attended the Midgardian memorial last week — or rather, had watched it on a television screen with Tony and Steve, cloistered high in Tony’s Manhattan palace and sharing a combination of Tony’s favored ale and the dwarven-strength brew Thor had brought for Steve’s sake. The other Avengers were off on quests of their own, unable (or, Thor suspected, unwilling) to return to mark the day with their fellows. It had been... peaceful, in a way, a quiet tribute to the wounded and the dead; and with only Steve and Tony beside him, who had both seen firsthand how Loki had suffered in Thanos’s clutches, the guilt and the sorrow were almost bearable.

But then he’d returned to Asgard and the hectic chaos that always preceded celebrations, and any peace he’d found was shattered. As crown prince, Thor had to assist with many aspects of the planning; and just like last year, the red and silver of the banners with no green and gold offset, the conspicuous absence of Loki’s name in the seating charts, the arguments with the bards who had prepared only songs telling of Thor’s deeds—the lack of Loki—all were a constant, stabbing reminder of everything Thor had lost.

The morning of the celebration dawned with plenty of work left to do, much of it the responsibility of the crown prince. Thor held hurried conferences with chefs, butlers, the household master, a handful of nobles, and, after managing to escape the palace briefly, Heimdall. From the Bifrost Thor had to escort an arriving contingent of elven dignitaries, which turned into an impromptu parade as the citizens spread word of Thor’s passing. The common folk were holding their own celebrations today, assisted by the largesse of the palace, and their revelry had spilled out into the streets. Thor made himself smile and wave from his horse’s back, made himself heft Mjölnir to the crowd’s cheers, made himself play the carefree warrior prince he’d once been as his people called praises and threw braids of red and silver ribbon.

Then a green and gold braid landed across his saddle.

He didn’t think he imagined the sudden dimming of the crowd’s noise; there were too many who could not see what had happened for total silence, but it was clear that of those who could see, many were shocked and appalled at such an open show of support for the lost second prince. Thor stared at the braid for a moment, too stunned to react; after a week of disappointing preparations he had not thought anyone cared enough about Loki to celebrate him. Yet here were Loki's colors, verdant green and shining gold, alone in a sea of Thor's own red and silver.

He picked up the braid, only half-aware that he'd allowed his horse to come to a stop, that the elven lords riding with him were watching him uncertainly. The silence was catching hold, spreading outward from those who could see Thor and the colors he held, a wave of whispers as people hissed hurried explanations to those behind them washing over even the furthest reaches of the crowd. Thor hardly noticed, staring at the ribbon in his hand.

Someone had made a celebratory braid for Loki. Someone had dared the ridicule of their peers, dared the wrath of those who believed Loki unworthy, to throw it alongside those made for Thor.

Someone wanted to celebrate Loki on this anniversary of his victory.

Someone _cared_ about Loki.

Thor’s fingers closed around the braid and he raised it high in the air, so that the gold thread in the ribbon caught the sunlight. "Loki!" he shouted. "Loki who defeated Thanos the Mad Titan! Loki my brother, by whose sacrifices we live today! _Loki Laufeyson!_ "

The reaction from the crowd was guarded at first: scattered cheers and whistles that could have come either from those who’d made the braid, or merely from sycophants who hoped only to cater favor. Then another braid of gold and green flashed through the air from further ahead — and another from nearer to Thor’s side, and still another from somewhere in between. Applause began to rise from the ranks of commoners, a sharp strange contrast to their earlier raucous approbation, and even as the lackluster cheers faded the applause swelled in a sudden rush up and down the street. The people no longer bounced and waved their arms, no longer shouted and danced, but stood tall and applauded; and on their faces Thor could see a deep, solemn respect.

Tears stung his eyes, an aching joy to know that Loki was not forgotten, that so many supported his brother, that so many truly did appreciate Loki's effort and sacrifice for Asgard's sake. And the knowledge that when next he saw his brother Thor could tell him how he was loved by the people he’d saved... Thor could not help the smile that spread across his face, fierce and proud and glad. He lifted the green and gold braid once more to the sky as he spurred his horse back into motion, and the thunderous applause swelled in a wave as he passed.

The smile stayed with him the rest of the ride to the palace, and would have stayed longer — except a flash of motion caught his eye, and he looked up in time to see Frigga hurrying across a balcony back into the palace, her head bowed, one hand over her mouth. It was not like her to watch for him, nor to show such emotion openly, so Thor hurriedly handed his elven charges over to a butler to be shown to their suite, then went in search of his mother.

He found her in her workroom, shuttered behind closed doors while her handmaids hovered anxiously outside. The women looked worried as Thor approached, and one of them said, “She asked not to be disturbed, Highness.”

“That is why I must disturb her,” Thor answered.

They traded glances, then the one who’d spoken nodded and stepped aside so Thor could knock. No response came from beyond the door, so Thor knocked again and called, “Mother, I’m coming in.” Still no response, so Thor pushed open the door and stepped into the workroom.

Where normally there would have been the clacking of the shuttle and soft whirr-thump of Frigga’s loom, there was only silence. Frigga sat at the stool, hastily wiping her face with a kerchief; her eyes were reddened and sad. She tried to smile in greeting, but her mouth wobbled and Thor could see how she shuddered to hold back tears. She said, “I saw the parade. It is... I am glad to see the people cheer for you.”

Thor winced. Her words confirmed his suspicions, and he crossed to kneel beside her as he used to do when he was a child. When she looked down at him in confusion, he held out the braid of green and gold ribbon he still carried in one hand.

Frigga froze for a moment, and he could not read the expression on her face. She took the ribbon from him with reverent care and pressed it to her lips, then clutched it to her heart, eyes closing and shoulders curling inward as if in pain.

Thor put a hand on her wrist. “This is a good thing,” he said softly.

“Yes,” Frigga agreed. “But he is not here to see it.”

The grief on her face was terrible, and Thor almost told her then of Loki’s visits. Almost told her that Loki was not wholly lost to them, that perhaps next year, or the year after, Loki would be there with them to see the people cheer him. That if they were patient, perhaps he would remember ( _realize_ ) how much they loved him. Yet Thor could not quite bring himself to speak, for to tell her of Loki’s visits would also be to tell her that Loki was not visiting _her_ , that whatever he might feel about them ( _remembering how Loki had smoothed the blanket Frigga had woven him, remembering the surprise on Loki’s face when he realized Thor wanted to see him_ ), he still sought to avoid them.

So Thor said nothing, his heart aching, and bowed his head to her lap; Frigga’s hand settled on his hair. For a moment he was a child again, clinging to his mother’s skirts for comfort, to hide from the ugliness of the world as only children can. But he was a man grown, and should not be asking solace from his mother when it was she who needed his strength. He thought again of Loki’s expression as he’d run a hand over the woven blanket, and said quietly, “If there is any one of us whose love I think he never doubted, it is you.”  

“Oh, my son,” Frigga said. “Of course he doubts me. And I cannot blame him, for I, too, lied to him.” Thor lifted his head to see that her gaze was fixed far away, on some distant memory, and it was several seconds before she looked at him. “And of those things which were not lies,” she added, sorrow in her voice, “I did not speak nearly often enough.”

“Mother—” Thor said, but Frigga shook her head, cutting him off.

“Forgive me,” she said. “It’s only... I miss him.”

“So do I,” Thor admitted.

She nodded. “You and he are brothers,” she said, “meant to navigate your lives together. I remember when you were both small, how he’d follow after you always—” Her voice broke on the last word, and she put a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob.   

“Mother...” Thor said again, but this time wasn’t sure what to say. When she bent to kiss the top of his head, he let her; when she released him, he stood and walked to the door on unsteady feet.

And when he looked back, just before the door closed behind him, he saw she had bowed her head to her hands, and her body shook with sobs.


	11. My Son

Thor made it through the second anniversary celebration much as he had the first: by drinking enough ale that the guilt and the pain disappeared behind its warm cushion. Sif’s presence at the head table, alongside the royal family, the Warriors Three, and the elven generals being honored for their aid, raised more than a few eyebrows and probably rumors as well, but nobody said anything that would require Thor (or Sif) to issue a challenge, and Thor considered that a success.

Thor also noticed the handful of lesser nobles, mostly slim young men known - and ridiculed - for a scholarly or arcane bent, who wore subtle touches of green and gold. If they and their companions received extra care from the servants, and small tokens of the crown prince’s favor, well. The feast _was_ supposed to be in honor of Loki, after all.

*               *               *

Time passed. Thor’s duties as crown prince kept him busy — and he could not help but think how, had things gone as Odin originally planned, Loki would have had to do all this work while Thor spent his days in carefree play. The mind-healer Maude, whom he still saw when he could spare the time, warned him that this lingering guilt was not healthy and taught him mindfulness exercies, and mostly they helped.

Still, even mindfulness exercises could not erase the worry when Thor realized that more than six months had passed since last he’d seen Loki. He remembered Loki saying _you assume there will_ be _a next time_ , feared that the promise he’d extracted that Loki would come see him had instead chased him away. When he confessed his worries to Fandral and Volstagg (he still avoided speaking of Loki when Sif and Hogun were near), Fandral reminded him in no uncertain terms that, firstly, Loki had never been one to keep a regular schedule, and secondly, he was probably simply busy, because when was Loki ever _not_ busy?

That was reassuring; more so when Thor realized that, since he’d stopped his watch on Loki’s rooms, it was entirely possible that Loki had come and gone during one of Thor’s many trips away from Asgard. He didn’t quite dare go into Loki’s rooms to check; it had finally occurred to him that Loki had added a third escape clause to his vow: _if you promise to stay out of my rooms_. He would not put it past his brother to use such a technicality to get out of his side of the bargain.

Then, one day as he returned to his rooms to change after a formal lunch with the Vanir princess, he heard a thump and a high shriek from further down the hall.

Loki's rooms.

Thor froze. He could not imagine what had caused it — certainly Loki himself, if he were there, would not make such a noise. He took a few steps forward, only to hear another thump; he frowned and hurried the rest of the way down the hall to put his ear against the door. The banging continued, seeming to move around the room, until abruptly whatever it was crashed into the door, rattling it against Thor's ear.

He didn't know what it could be, didn't know what to do, but he misliked the idea of standing by while something unknown wreaked havoc on his brother's rooms. The thumping was making another round of the room; Thor put a hand on the doorknob and, when he judged it was approaching, shoved open the door, fist raised and ready to strike—

A small child crashed into his knees with a high-pitched squeal, bounced back, and looked up at him with wide dark eyes.

Thor’s fist dropped forgotten to his side as he stared down at the child. The boy was wearing a strange earth-brown hat with oddly familiar fox ears and a broad tail or drape that hung down his back, tufted with white fur at the end. His clothes were simple: a sleeveless tunic the same color as his hat, gray wide-legged pants, and sandals that revealed dirt-stained feet. His skin was a rich olive, and shocks of white hair poked out from beneath the edges of his hat. He stared up at Thor for a moment in silence, then said brightly, "Hi!"

Thor blinked. "...Hello," he answered cautiously.

"I'm a crackler," the boy announced, and stomped both feet loudly for emphasis. "What are you?"

"Er," Thor said. "I'm... a prince?"

The boy shook his head. "You're not green enough to be a prince," he said, and turned away as if he'd lost all interest in Thor. "Papa!" he called toward the workroom. "Someone's here. Can we go home?"

Loki appeared in the workroom door, frowning, though Thor hardly saw him, so floored was he by _papa_. To the boy Loki said, "No, not yet. Be patient." The boy huffed, then ran past Loki through the workroom to fling himself bodily onto the bed. To Thor, Loki said, "I've no time to visit today. You can see I'm well, I'm sure—”

"' _Papa_ '?!" Thor interrupted. It couldn’t be — the boy looked too old to have been born after the Infinity War, and anyway Loki was too young to be a father—

Except he wasn’t, was he? He was only a few years younger than Thor, and while that might make a difference to short-lived mortals, to an immortal Aesir (or Jotun), it was as nothing. Loki might be Thor’s younger brother, but he’d proven in the Infinity War that he was no longer Thor’s _baby_ brother, little Loki who needed looking after, who needed his big brother to guide him. Yet for him to be called _papa_...

Loki glanced over his shoulder at the boy, then back at Thor, and sighed. "No. Tristepin just thinks it's great fun to teach him to call me that.”

“Then... who is he?” Thor asked.

“One of the Eliatrope Six,” Loki said. “Alibert had been caring for him, but he and Yugo both thought it would be best for him to be raised by an Eliatrope, in Eliatrope traditions. So Jahanna and I are looking after him.”

“Doesn’t that mean you’re his father?” Thor said. “If you’re raising him—”

“I am _not_ his father,” Loki said sharply, and there was a dark edge to his voice that made Thor remember, suddenly, the confrontation in the throne room after Thanos’s defeat, the void in Loki’s eyes as Odin confessed to sending him to suffer at the Chitauri’s hands.

It was no wonder Loki did not want to be called _father_.

Thor held up his hands in surrender. “All right,” he said. Loki seemed to relax, just a little, and Thor dared, “Will you introduce me, at least?”

Loki opened his mouth, closed it again, and rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Fine, but quickly,” he said. “I’ve a great deal of work to do.” He turned to call over his shoulder. “Chibi! Come here, please.”

There was a pause, then the boy came running at top speed through the workroom, skidding to a stop in front of Loki. “I’m not Chibi, I’m the Mmmmmmmmmporpg!” he declared.

“I thought you were a crackler,” Loki said.

“I’m bored with cracklering,” Chibi answered. “I want to go fast!”

Loki smiled, his expression softening, and he crouched to lift the boy and settle him on his hip so that he was at Loki’s eye-level. “Well,” Loki said, “can you be Chibi for a moment? I’ve introductions to make.”

The boy considered this with great seriousness, then nodded. Loki turned back to Thor. “This is Chibi, brother to Grougaloragran and one of the Eliatrope Six,” he said formally. “Chibi, this is Thor Odinson, prince of Asgard.”

“I’m your uncle,” Thor couldn’t resist adding.

“ _Thor_ ,” Loki said sharply, but Thor just gave him an innocent look. Even if — _especially_ if — Loki was creating a new family for himself, however unconventional, however named, Thor was not about to allow him to cut out his old one entirely.

Loki had his mouth open to scold Thor further, but Chibi interrupted with a frown. “I already have an uncle,” he said to Thor. “You can be my aunt.”

Thor sputtered, and Loki’s visibly mounting anger gave way to a snicker. “No,” he said to Chibi, though his eyes sparkled with mischief. “Aunts are women. Men are _uncles_.”

“But Cabotine has an aunt!” Chibi complained. “I want one too!”

“Perhaps you can ask Cabotine to borrow Aunt Cléophée sometime,” Loki said, and ruffled the boy’s hat between the fox ears. “Now, if you’re going to be the Mmmmmmmmmporpg, you need to practice running, yes?”

“Yes!” Chibi said. Loki let him down and Chibi dashed off toward the bedroom again.

Loki glanced back at Thor and smirked. “What’s the matter?” he asked. “Have you never seen a three-year-old before?”

Thor glared at him. “I’ve never been _insulted_ by one twice in as many minutes,” he said. “First I’m not green enough to be a prince, and then I’m an _aunt_?”

Loki snickered again. "Well, he _is_ right, you're not nearly as green as Prince Armand.”

“Or as green as you?” Thor said, with a pointed look at Loki’s coat and sash.

“He doesn’t know I was a prince,” Loki said. “Besides, even I’m not as green as Armand. I’ve not the facial hair of a Sadida, nor any desire for it. —Now,” he added, humor fading abruptly, “if you’ll excuse me, I’ve a great deal of work to do. The Council of Twelve convenes in less than four hours, and I need to finish the—”

A crash sounded from the bedroom and Loki winced. “Chibi...” he called warningly.

“It’s a chair!” Chibi shouted back. “It’s okay!”

Loki closed his eyes in the manner that meant he was trying very hard not to shout; when he opened them again, he said to Thor, “We can visit next time. I had hoped for quiet enough to concentrate, but at this rate—”

An idea occurred to Thor and he interrupted, “I could watch Chibi. Then you can work in peace.” Loki stared at him, and Thor protested, “I’ve led entire regiments of warriors. Do you think I cannot mind a child?”

“If you think minding a child is _anything_ like leading a regiment of warriors,” Loki shot back, “I fear for your intelligence.” He paused. “...More than I already do.”

Thor scowled. “Would you like the help or not?”

It was perhaps fortunate that Chibi chose that moment to come barreling back out into the study, head down and legs pumping. He clipped Loki’s leg, ricocheted into the chaise, and would have knocked over a table and lamp had not Thor lunged forward to grab him. He swung the boy up into the air, eliciting a shriek of delight, and caught him again, settling him on his hip as Loki had done earlier. He looked at Loki smugly, and raised an eyebrow.

Loki sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “All right,” he said. “Fine. Watch him. But if the palace burns down, I am _not_ responsible.” With that, he stalked into the workroom and closed the door with a force just short of a slam.

Thor looked at the boy in his arms. Chibi was already squirming to get down, so Thor set him on his feet and stepped back. Loki might think Thor was incompetent (and in fairness, what about that sentiment was new?), but it couldn’t be so difficult to watch a child. Besides, Chibi seemed to have tired of running, and now stood looking up at Thor with his head tilted to the side curiously.

“If you’re my uncle,” he said suddenly, “does that mean you’re Papa’s brother?”

“Yes,” Thor said. He took a seat on the chaise so that neither of them had to crane their necks quite so much to look at the other. “I’m his older brother. You have a brother too, don’t you?”

“Uh-huh.” Chibi nodded. “Grougaloragran. He’s a black dragon.”

“Impressive,” Thor said, though as he knew nothing about dragons, and would probably mangle that name if he attempted it, he decided to pursue a less tricky subject. “Your papa” —and it was strange to call Loki that, strange but somehow exhilarating, because if Loki had a child it meant Thor had a nephew— “is very busy, isn’t he?”

“Uh-huh,” Chibi said again. “Everyone’s busy. Mama made Papa bring me here ‘cause of she has to do stuff with the Pandawa queen lady, and Alibert is cooking, and even Canar an’ Renate are busy so I couldn’t even stay with them. And Papa wouldn’t let me go hunting with Grougal and Tikal.” He scuffed a foot on the edge of a woven rug. “But it’s boring here.”

Thor glanced around the room. He had many childhood memories of playing here with Loki, but those years were long past, and the study now reflected the needs and sensibilities of a grown man. There was nothing in the room for a small boy. Still, even Thor and Loki had not spent all, or even most, of their time indoors. More often than not, they had preferred to escape the confines of the palace entirely, and the memory gave Thor another idea.

He clapped his hands together. “Let’s go outside,” he said. “There’s much more to do in the gardens.”

Chibi brightened. “Really?” he said. “Are your gardens like Sadida gardens?”

“I don’t know,” Thor said. “If we go outside, you can tell me.”

“Yes!” Chibi squealed, and bounced with delight. “Outside, let’s go outside!” He grabbed Thor’s hand and tugged excitedly.

Thor grinned as he stood and followed Chibi to the door. Loki could mock his child-minding ability all he wanted — Thor had a nephew now, and by Yggdrasil, he was going to make the most of his time with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple of pronunciation notes: Chibi is pronounced the French way, “shih-BEE”. And Mmmmmmmmmporpg is pronounced “meuPORG” or “m’PORG”. In Wakfu, the Mmmmmmmmmporpg is a boufbowl (think rugby+magic+Calvinball) player known for his super-speed. His name is a reference to a French meme where a newscaster first attempted to pronounce “MMORPG” as a word, then misspelled it (???) while trying to explain it. (No, I don’t know why they attached that meme to a boufbowl player. This is the studio that named three of their races after shoes, aspirin, and Yoplait yogurt, so...)


	12. Offer

After the third time Chibi darted away to look at something and Thor had to chase him down, Thor gave up and lifted the boy onto his shoulders, where he couldn’t go running off. This, of course, prompted cries of, “Be a dragoturkey!” and much kicking of sandaled heels and tugging of Thor’s hair. Thor didn’t know what a dragoturkey was, but he _did_ know how to be a horse, so they galloped through the halls until Chibi decided that Thor should be a bird instead. Then he must be a fish, then a crackler, and then Thor attempted to imitate the mortals’ Quinjet, much to Chibi’s delight.

At first, Thor felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment when they passed servants or nobles or warriors in the halls — but apparently having a small child on one’s shoulders excuses all sorts of strange behavior, for though almost everyone turned to look, no one scoffed or mocked. It likely helped, too, that Chibi was a natural charmer, smiling and waving cheerfully at those they passed. Thor saw many bemused smiles, and most people waved or called greetings in return.

When they reached the Dawn Garden, Thor set Chibi on his feet once more, and let him run ahead along the stone paths. Chibi clearly delighted in the freedom, running around like an excited puppy and bouncing up over the plants to call Thor over to look at some rock or snail or flower he’d found. Thor did not worry about losing him out here; he stood tall enough to see the brown fox ears over even the bigger plants, and moreover he knew these garden paths as he knew his own bedroom. The Dawn Garden, created as it was to bloom most brilliantly at sunrise, was not often frequented during the latter half of the day, and Thor and Loki had spent many afternoons out here as children, where they could play undisturbed by adult watchers.

The other excellent thing about the Dawn Garden was that it shared a border with the Serenity Walk, which was rather closer to a hedge maze than a garden. Its thick green bushes stood taller even than Thor, and the leaves - and perhaps even the turns of the path itself - soaked up the background noises of the palace. Thor was not at all surprised when, more than an hour after they’d come outside, one of its vine-laden entry arches caught Chibi’s eye. The boy ran up to the entrance and peered in, then, with a quick glance over his shoulder as if to ensure Thor saw him, he darted through.

Thor followed at a leisurely pace; he knew the paths of the Serenity Walk well, and Chibi would not be able to get far. When he rounded the arch into the Walk, he spotted brown fox ears just darting out of sight around the first bend, and a mischievous giggle floated through the bushes. Thor made a show of looking around for Chibi, calling for him in mock confusion, and turned the corner just in time to see Chibi duck around the next bend. This led to a merry game of hide-and-go-seek as Chibi tried to stay one turn ahead of Thor, running faster and faster and shrieking with laughter.

Then Chibi turned another corner and the laughter stopped abruptly.

Thor's heart skipped a beat and he hurried to catch up. The boy must simply be distracted, something had caught his eye, he was fine—

—he was standing in front of Frigga and Odin, who had evidently been walking along the path in the opposite direction.

Thor came up short when he saw his parents. It should not have been so strange to see them walking the gardens together; they'd done it often enough when Thor was young. Yet ever since the Infinity War, Frigga had hardly spoken two words to Odin in private, and Thor could not imagine why they were here together ( _and Loki would not be happy, he hadn’t wanted anyone to know he was coming back, what was Thor thinking bringing Chibi out here, this was a bad idea..._ ).

Chibi was staring up at them, and they down at him, in seeming mutual surprise. Odin noticed Thor first and looked up at him, his single eye wide with confusion. Frigga looked up a moment later, just as Thor found his voice to blurt, "Mother—Father—?" At the sound of his voice, Chibi spun back to Thor, hooking one arm around Thor’s leg and reaching up with the other to take a handful of Thor's tunic.

“Hello, Thor,” Frigga said. “Who’s this?” Her tone was light and gentle, but still Chibi buried his face against Thor's leg, overcome by a sudden and inexplicable bout of shyness.

Thor bent to lift the boy and settle him on his hip, as Loki had done earlier when he’d made introductions. Chibi still clung to him, dark eyes peeking out at Odin and Frigga from beneath his hat, and Thor patted him on the back in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. “It’s all right,” he said to the boy. To his parents, he said, “This is Chibi, brother to Grou—Grougil...”

“ _Grougaloragran_ ,” Chibi supplied, in a tone of voice that suggested Thor really ought to know better.

“...Yes,” Thor agreed quickly. “And one of the Eliatrope Six.” He wasn’t actually sure what that part meant, but Loki had included it when he’d introduced Chibi, so Thor thought it must be important. He hestitated, debating whether to leave it at that, to try to hide Loki’s involvement. But the only Eliatrope seen in many thousands of years was Loki’s consort Jahanna, and it was not such a hard connection to make. So he added, “He’s Loki’s son.”

Frigga sucked in a breath, her eyes widening as she looked sharply at Thor. He tried to keep his face blank, the way Odin did when he didn’t want to reveal anything, the way Odin was doing now, his expression wholly unreadable. Thor braced himself for the inevitable questions, the demands — but Odin said nothing, and though Frigga looked away for a moment, when she turned back, she was smiling.

“Hello, Chibi,” she said, very gently.

“Hi,” Chibi dared, then ducked his head against Thor’s shoulder.

“Chibi,” Thor said, nudging him, “these are my parents. My mama and papa.”

“We’re your grandparents,” Frigga added. “Your grandmama and grandpapa.” ( _And if Loki was resistant to Thor calling himself Chibi’s uncle, he would be furious when — if — he found out about this, and Thor would just have to make sure that didn’t happen._ )

Chibi considered that for a moment, sitting up straighter in Thor’s arms to study her. “Your hair’s all twisty,” he said at last.

Frigga smiled. “Yes,” she said.

“Can I touch it?” Chibi asked.

“Of course.” Frigga held out her hands; after a brief hesitation Chibi allowed Thor to pass him to her.

As Chibi patted Frigga’s hair curiously, Thor leaned toward Odin. “Er,” he said carefully, “What are you doing out here?”

Odin glanced over at Frigga, his expression calculating. "Your mother invited me for a walk."

Thor looked to Frigga as well, and just for an instant he thought he saw a smug smile touch her mouth. "Mother..." he said. Frigga lifted an eyebrow, and it was the same expression Loki wore when he'd been up to something and knew no one could prove it. Abruptly Thor remembered that Frigga, for all he thought of her as _mother_ and _queen_ before anything else, was also a powerful prophetess. The weavings of her loom showed her many things — even, perhaps, the arrival of a small Eliatrope child.

Then Frigga turned her attention back to Chibi, who was now asking about a flower he’d spotted on one of the nearby bushes. Thor traded a glance with his father; Odin looked bemused, yet also distant and sad as he watched his grandson. “How old is he?” Odin asked softly.

“Three,” Thor said. “Loki and Jahanna adopted him...” He paused, considering; he thought he vaguely remembered Loki mentioning a Chibi at their last visit. “...perhaps a year ago.”

Odin nodded thoughtfully, and they fell into a comfortable silence. Chibi seemed to have got over his shyness and was happily chattering at Frigga, and when he asked if Frigga had ever fought any monsters, she called Odin over to tell the boy stories. This lasted until Chibi got distracted by a bird landing in the hedge up ahead, and he squirmed down from Frigga’s arms and ran to look. The bird, of course, fled as he approached, but Chibi didn’t seem to mind, running back to grab Odin and Frigga each by the hand and pull them after him as he chased down yet another interesting bit of nature.

Thor followed them along the path as they walked, glad that his parents had taken Chibi’s presence so well, but still worried about Loki’s reaction. He told himself that he would just be sure to take Chibi back before Loki noticed they were gone, perhaps ask the boy not to mention anything to Loki ( _could he even expect a three-year-old to keep such a promise, but Chibi seemed quite a bright child_ ) ...perhaps instead just try to wear Chibi out so that he fell asleep before Thor handed him back, and hopefully he’d forget to mention anything. Still, it was a pleasant afternoon, and despite his worries Thor was glad for the time, glad to have even this half-approximation of his family back together.

It was sheer luck — or perhaps some brotherly instinct — that he heard the rapid pad of footsteps around a corner in the hedge, spotted a flash of black and gold through the green of the leaves. Instinct and a flash of panic sent Thor diving around the corner, just in time to intercept Loki stalking through the hedges. His brother’s face was livid, furious and betrayed, and even as Loki opened his mouth Thor reached out, caught his shoulder with one hand and lifted the other to cup Loki’s neck. “Brother, listen to me,” —talking over him in a low urgent voice, hardly aware of his own words in his desperation to head off Loki’s rage, “—I swear on my life I did not know they would be here, they’ve hardly spoken since you left, I never thought they’d be out here, please, Loki—”

Loki’s mouth snapped shut, teeth grinding audibly, and Thor suspected that the only reason he wasn’t saying anything was that if he opened his mouth again he’d start screaming. He tried to pull away, to resume storming toward Odin and Frigga, but Thor moved his hand up to Loki’s jaw, drawing him closer, not letting go. He met that poison-green glare ( _don’t leave, not again, please brother_ ), held him tighter as if that would hold shut the chasm that once again threatened to drive them apart. “Please,” Thor repeated, softer. “They miss you. At least... be civil.” He hesitated, then dared, “For Chibi’s sake.”

Loki snarled wordlessly through gritted teeth and yanked free of Thor’s grip, slamming the side of his fist into Thor’s chest to shove him out of the way. He stalked past Thor around the corner, but even as he moved the fury on his face vanished as abruptly as if he’d pulled on a mask, and his posture straightened to court-perfect stiffness. Thor followed helplessly.

Odin and Frigga, with Chibi between them, were a little ways further along the path, looking closely at something in the hedge. Frigga was the first to notice Loki, and when she turned to look at him Thor saw joy and hope and fear flash across her face. Loki stood rigid, his face utterly expressionless as he met her gaze, and for a wild moment Thor fought back the urge to punch that blankness away, to grab him and shake him until he stopped holding himself apart, until he remembered that they loved him.

Odin looked up next, and his own expression went just as blank as Loki’s when he saw his younger son. Loki still hadn’t moved, and Thor reached up to grip his brother’s arm, not sure if he was trying to keep Loki from attacking, or from fleeing, or simply trying to reassure him.

Then Chibi spotted Loki and shouted, “Papa!”

He ran up the path to jump at his father; Loki caught him, his expression and his posture softening all at once as he lifted his son into his arms. “Hello, Chibi,” he said. “It’s time to go home.”

“But I wanna show Gran’mama an’ Gran’papa some more!” Chibi protested.

Thor still had a hand on Loki’s arm and so he felt his brother tense, but though Loki shot Thor a glare over Chibi’s head, it didn’t have the white-hot rage of a minute before. “We have to go,” Loki told Chibi firmly. He hesitated, then added, “Say goodbye.”

Chibi stuck out his lower lip in a pout, but he turned to wave at Frigga and Odin. “Bye-bye!” he called.

“Wait,” Frigga said suddenly. She was clearly trying to keep her voice normal, but Thor could hear the hope in it, the gentleness. “You could stay for dinner.”

Loki went still. “We can’t,” he said flatly. Disappointment and sorrow flashed across Frigga’s face before she got her expression under control; Loki glanced at Thor, and in a more moderate tone he added, “I’ve a critical meeting in less than an hour.”

Right. Thor had forgotten about that, but Loki had mentioned being in a hurry, hadn’t he?

“Next week, then,” Frigga offered. “You could bring the rest of your family.”

Loki stared at her for a long minute in silence. Thor didn’t dare move, didn’t dare speak; even Chibi seemed to be aware that something important was happening, for though he watched his father wide-eyed, he didn’t say anything. Frigga met Loki’s gaze calmly, with the grace and poise of a queen, with the patience of a mother.

Then Loki said stiffly, “Dinner, next week today. All five of us.” Before anyone else could speak, he pulled away from Thor and gestured with his free hand, and he and Chibi vanished.

Thor let his arm fall to his side, too shocked by Loki’s agreement to do anything save turn to stare at his parents. Odin’s face was still carefully blank, but his posture betrayed the weariness and the pain of loss he tried so hard to hide. And Frigga...

Frigga’s mouth had curved into a small, fierce, triumphant smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand we further part ways with our laughing, megalomaniacal, brilliant [canon archvillan](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=48DRGDiKo2U)... XD


	13. Return to Us

“Oh, Thor, good,” Frigga said when Thor knocked at the door to her dressing room. “Which do you think, the ivory or the violet?”

Thor looked at the gowns being displayed by a pair of handmaidens, one a pale purple with flowing sleeves, the other white-ish and heavy with embroidery, and shook his head helplessly. “I was going to ask you much the same thing,” he admitted, and held up the handful of tunics he’d been trying on for the last hour.

Frigga smiled ruefully. She was in her dressing gown, and another handmaiden was putting the final touches on her hair where it spilled over her shoulders in carefully casual waves. “Just like your father,” she murmured. “He’s sent four page boys already, asking what to wear.”

Despite his nervousness, Thor couldn’t help but smile back. The week since the ( _terrible, impossible, wonderful_ ) meeting in the garden had passed in a frenzy, as Frigga set about preparing for dinner with Loki and his family. More than once she’d summoned Thor to answer questions like _do dragons eat as we do_ (to which Thor had replied that he recalled Jahanna’s dragon brother Tikalukatal eating with them during the feast after the war), and _which does your brother prefer, lamb or pheasant_ (to which Thor had replied that she could have the cooks make both, since they would have two dragons and Thor there to eat whichever Loki did not), and _what do you think Chibi eats, he’s quite young still_ (to which Thor had replied, “Mother, you’re fussing”, and she had stopped asking questions for nearly a day and a half).

Yet despite Thor having mentally prepared himself for an interrogation about Loki, about his life, about how often Thor had been seeing him — neither Frigga nor Odin asked him aught of Loki. It took him three days and a discussion with Volstagg to realize that it was because Frigga wanted to ask those questions of Loki himself, and either Odin was taking her cue on the matter, or had chosen to recuse himself from the whole affair out of guilt or fear that his presence would ruin things.

The only question Frigga had not been able to resist asking, late one night when Thor was walking her back to her rooms after an extended meeting with representatives from Vanaheim, was, _is he happy?_

Thor had faltered in his steps, but when Frigga turned to look at him, he’d made himself continue as if nothing was wrong. He hadn’t answered right away, instead thinking about the question, about what Frigga wanted to hear, what Loki had allowed him to see in their few brief visits. ( _The way Loki had looked over a book at Thor, fey and strange in his witchlights. The way he had practically collapsed beneath the weight of his own gleeful melodrama, sprawling along a chaise as he spoke of armies and alien princes. The way he’d smirked when Thor spoke of making Jane his queen._

_The way he’d softened when he held his son._ )

_Yes_ , Thor had said softly. _I think he is._

Frigga had only nodded, and Thor could not tell, as they resumed walking down the hall, if the sad curve of her mouth was only a trick of the shadows.

There was one other question which hung over all of them, an ominous shadow to which none of them dared give voice: _what if he doesn’t come?_ Thor still wasn’t sure why Loki had even agreed to the dinner in the first place, couldn’t help but wonder if it had been a spur-of-the-moment choice that he would regret the moment he’d left Asgard. Loki was more than wily enough to find a perfectly reasonable excuse not to show up ( _My apologies, the situation with the New Sufokians escalated rather abruptly, and I couldn’t afford to leave..._ ). And even if he did mean to come, well, Loki had never been reliable at the best of times. He was prone to getting distracted and forgetting his commitments, or simply overscheduling himself — and he’d been in a hurry last week, had obviously had something important going on, and what if he’d simply forgotten about the invitation?

Thor knew Frigga had thought of it, had noticed the hesitation in her voice, the worry in her eyes, when she discussed preparations for Loki’s arrival. Odin was harder to read, but he had made even fewer public appearances than usual this week, and Thor had spotted him once leaning against a balcony rail, good eye half-closed as he strained with his Sight for something unseeable. Thor himself had lain awake more than one night, trying to convince himself that this was too important for Loki to forget, too important for Loki to change his mind—

“Violet,” Frigga said suddenly, startling Thor from his thoughts. “I shall wear the violet. And you,” she added, with a nod toward the bundle of cloth Thor still held, “can wear the grey.”

Thor managed to extricate the grey velvet tunic without crushing it too badly, and held it up. “Are you sure?” he asked. “It’s very... plain.”

“Dress it up a bit with one of your nice capes,” Frigga said. “But you don’t want to be too formal, either. This is a dinner with your brother.”

She almost managed to make it sound normal, _just dinner with your brother,_ nothing strange or unusual about it, as if it was something they did every week. Thor shot her a sharp look, but she was studying her face in the mirror, dabbing at an imagined blemish with a finger dipped in cream. “Right,” Thor said. “Of course.”

He retreated back to his own rooms before he said anything else, anything that might upset her. Frigga was trying her best to make this entire event as normal as possible, and he did not want to spoil that for her. Standing in front of his own mirror, Thor pulled on the grey tunic, tried on three different belts and four capes, almost went back to ask his mother for advice again, and finally decided that he was being an idiot and Loki would laugh at him for overthinking things. It was ridiculous that he should be so nervous to see his own brother, that he should pay as much attention to his clothing and accoutrements as if he was meeting with the king of the dwarves. Their first two visits after the war, Thor had been in his nightshirt, so why could he not stop fussing with the drape of his cape, or smoothing wrinkles from his sleeves?

“You look fine,” a voice said from behind him, and Thor jumped halfway to Alfheim. Spinning to the door, one hand half-reaching for Mjölnir on sheer reflex, he came to an abrupt halt when he saw Fandral leaning against the jamb. He was dressed for sparring practice in his armor, and from the swelling bruise on one cheek Thor suspected he’d just come from the training grounds. Fandral grinned and tossed him a flask; Thor caught it and eyed it suspiciously.

Fandral rolled his eyes. “It’s just wine,” he said. “You’re strung tighter than an apprentice’s lyre, you should relax.”

“I should relax,” Thor repeated, incredulous. “From whence this sudden concern for my well-being?”

“From knowing you,” Fandral said. “You’re near as bad as Loki when you bother to worry about your looks.”

Thor snorted. “You try standing at the front of the Great Hall for a whole afternoon wondering if it’s you the courtiers are snickering about.”

“No, thanks,” Fandral shot back. “Though I’d hardly have to worry; my looks are impeccable.”

He puffed out his chest like a peacock when he said it, and Thor couldn’t help but chuckle. “Your ego is, at any rate,” he said. Fandral laughed, and Thor gave in and took a sip from the flask. “So,” he continued, “you came to help me, your friend and prince, out of the goodness of your noble heart?”

“Of course,” Fandral said lightly. “‘Tis a dishonorable man who leaves a friend lost in the depths of a wardrobe.” But then he straightened from his slouch, his face going abruptly serious. “And... I’d ask a favor of you.” Thor raised an eyebrow, curious, and Fandral continued, “Tonight, if things go well... if you think he’d hear it...” He looked away for a moment, then met Thor’s eyes. “Would you tell Loki I am truly sorry?”

Thor went still. Fandral looked sincere, his eyes shadowed with pain, his lips pressed in a thin line; when Thor said nothing he added quickly, “I’ll understand if he doesn’t want to respond, or if he’s still angry. But... I want him to know that it was never my intention to be cruel. Nor Volstagg’s, and he’d be up here to say so himself except Tyr still has him running drills.” He hesitated again, taking a deep breath. “Just... tell Loki we really are sorry.”

“Aye,” Thor said softly. “If I think he’ll hear, I’ll tell him.”

“Thank you,” Fandral said, just as soft. Then he shook himself, the solemnity vanishing like a cloud on a summer’s day; and he flashed Thor a grin. “Now, really, stop fussing and get out there. I’ve three bottles of wine and a box of popping tarts riding on you leaving your rooms before Loki arrives.”

Thor could not but laugh out loud at that. Resisting the urge to look in the mirror yet again, he instead crossed the room to the door, and clapped Fandral on the shoulder. “Far be it from me to keep you from your Pop-Tarts,” he said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve a dinner to attend.”

Fandral waved him off, and Thor set out toward the sitting room where he was to meet his parents to await Loki’s arrival ( _crushed the flash of worry that Loki would not arrive at all_ ). It had occurred to Frigga halfway through the week that they did not know how Loki and his family would travel, nor exactly when or where they would arrive. Heimdall had succumbed to Frigga’s polite but unrelenting prodding, and admitted that Loki had not been using the Bifrost to travel; nevertheless, Frigga had had a carriage sent out to stand by, just in case. Likewise, pages waited outside Loki’s rooms, at the front gates of the palace, in the Great Hall, and elsewhere, watching and waiting to bring word of the lost prince’s return.

Yet somehow knowing that made the wait even worse, as Thor joined his parents in the sitting room in nervous silence. It was early yet, he reminded himself; there was still plenty of time for Loki to arrive. But as the minutes passed with no word, Thor could not stop himself from wondering, worrying, that Loki had changed his mind. He fidgeted in his seat, then got up to pace across the room, aware that Odin’s eyebrows had lowered in silent disapproval but unable to hold still.

Finally he could not hold back any more, and burst out, “What if he doesn’t come?”

Frigga’s shoulders stiffened, but she said calmly, “Then the three of us shall have dinner.”

Thor drew breath to answer, to protest—

The door opened and a breathless page ran into the room. He sketched a quick bow and panted, “Lord Heimdall sends word, Loki Laufeyson and his family have arrived at the Bifrost. They’re on their way now.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads-up: I will be at Black Hat/Defcon this week (yay!), and won't have time for writing (boo). Thus, **there will be no update on Monday, 8/05**. We will return to our regularly scheduled angsting on Monday, 8/12. See you all then!


	14. I Reach Out My Hand

The Yggdrasil Hall, so named for the massive frieze of the world tree which dominated its back wall, was the traditional receiving hall for important guests with small entourages, a more personal and intimate setting than the vastness of the Great Hall. Still, Thor wondered if that was the only reason why Frigga had chosen to receive Loki’s family there, or if the memory of the last time they’d all been together in the Great Hall was not one she wanted to evoke.

Thor stood beside his parents, hands clasped behind his back, trying not to look impatient - or nervous. He told himself again that this was Loki, this was his brother, there was no reason to be so worried. Still, it was oddly reassuring to see the way Frigga kept smoothing the silk of her dress, and even Odin tried to surreptitiously clear his throat and settle his shoulders.

Then the double doors at the front of the hall groaned open, and a herald stepped through to announce, “The dragon Tikalukatal. His sister Jahanna, of the Eliatrope Council of Six. Her consort, honored dignitary of the Sadida Kingdom and chief ambassador to King Yugo of the Eliatropes, Loki Laufeyson. The dragon Grougaloragran and his brother Chibi, also of the Council of Six.”

Loki and his family came through the door as the herald spoke, and Thor could not stop himself from grinning in relief and delight. It seemed that they, too, had opted for not-quite-formal dress: Loki had traded the skin-baring jacket and vest for a green and gold tunic and coat similar to his old palace garb, while Jahanna wore a loosely-draped gown in her signature red, and Chibi, walking between his parents and clutching Jahanna’s hand, had been cleaned up and dressed in a neat brown and grey tunic. Both Eliatropes still wore their fox-eared hats, and Thor would have to ask later if the hats were some sort of status mark or symbol of Council members.

The dragon Tikalukatal was in the man’s form Thor remembered from the Infinity War, wearing nothing but wide black fisherman’s pants, his skin a deep red and his black hair, framed by shining black horns, falling loose around his shoulders. Beside him hovered a small black creature that must be the young dragon Grougaloragran, though he looked nothing like Tikalukatal’s elegant and terrifying dragon form. His beaked head was bigger than the rest of his body; his wings were tiny things, smaller than Thor’s hand, which beat furiously despite being far too small to actually hold him up. His eyes were massive and, unlike Tikalukatal’s glowing blue pupils, a more normal black, and they were narrowed in clear suspicion as the little dragon studied the royal family.

Frigga was the first to act, before the silence in the wake of the herald’s introduction could turn awkward. She stepped forward, smiling, arms open and welcoming. Thor suspected she was hoping to embrace Loki, but Loki shifted back, just a little, and Frigga didn’t press. “Loki, it’s good to see you again,” she said. “Honored Tikalukatal, Jahanna, welcome.”

Loki and Jahanna inclined their heads simultaneously, the kind of polite gesture used between monarchs of equal status (not a bow, which said a lot about how the Eliatropes viewed their place in the Realms, and Thor felt proud of himself for noticing that when a few years ago he’d have been busier wondering when the food would start). “Majesties,” Loki said cooly, and then glanced at Thor. “Highness.”

Oh. Well, if they were playing _that_ game... “Ambassador,” Thor answered, and smirked; Loki’s eyes gleamed with amusement.

“Please,” Frigga said gently. “Let’s not stand on formalities.”

Loki nodded once, the mischief fading. “As you wish,” he murmured, and it occurred suddenly to Thor that Loki was as nervous as Thor had been. Being Loki, he was hiding it well, but Thor knew his brother, could recognize the tightness around his eyes, at the corners of his mouth.

He saw, too, the way Jahanna’s dark eyes flicked to Loki and over to Frigga, then Jahanna nudged Chibi forward a little. “Chibi, do you remember everyone?” she said.

“Uh-huh,” Chibi said, but he leaned into her skirt, looking bashful. The little dragon Grougaloragran growled suddenly, a high-pitched noise like a kitten, and would have darted forward except that Tikalukatal grabbed him by the tail with the ease of long practice.

“Grougal,” Loki said, and it was the same warning tone Thor had heard thousands of times growing up, directed at him or his brother by Odin and Frigga. “Behave.”

“Young dragons can be a little wild,” Jahanna said to Frigga ruefully.

Frigga smiled. “It’s the nature of children to be a little wild,” she said. “Let’s go to the dining hall - perhaps food will settle him.”

Loki glanced at Jahanna, and even Thor could recognize the look of parental fondness they traded. “That sounds good,” Jahanna said. “Come on, Grougal, Chibi – aren’t you hungry?”

The boy nodded, he and his dragon brother both brightening at the prospect of food, and they all began to move toward the dining hall. Thor couldn’t help but notice the way Loki fell into step with Tikalukatal, at the dragon’s shoulder where always before he’d been at Thor’s, and tried not to feel jealous.

As they walked, Frigga said, “You look well, Loki.”

Loki shot her a sideways glance. “You were going to say _different_.”

“That, too,” Frigga agreed easily.

“The Sadida Kingdom provides well for its people,” Loki said.

“The Sadida Kingdom?” Frigga asked. “Is that where you’re living now?”

Loki glanced at Thor, and suddenly it was as if they were young again; Thor could read the question on his face plainly: _you didn’t tell her_? He answered with a minute shake of his head and an even smaller shrug: _she’s Mother, don’t blame me_ , and saw the ghost of a smile on Loki’s mouth.

“Yes,” Loki said to Frigga. “It’s one of the many nations, and factions, of the World of Twelve.”

His description of the Sadida Kingdom, with Jahanna interjecting, carried them into the dining hall, and after a pause while they seated themselves, through the appetizer course. Frigga had chosen a round table for the dinner, and had not marked out place settings, presumably to make it feel less formal and also to afford Loki the opportunity to choose a seat where he would be the most comfortable. The result was that Loki sat with Jahanna to his left and Chibi, then Frigga, beyond her; and Grougaloragran and Tikalukatal to his right. Thor had hoped to sit next to his brother, but much to his disappointment, the best he could manage was the seat beside Tikalukatal. And Odin, who seemed to be doing his best to be quiet and unnoticed, ended up between Thor and Frigga, as far away from Loki as he could be.

Still, it was a surprisingly pleasant meal.  Talking about the Sadida Kingdom seemed to put Loki at ease, and he and Jahanna took turns relating anecdotes about their lives, about the Sadida people, and even somewhat of the Eliatrope Council and the Eliatrope king’s goal to restore their people to the universe. The children were mostly well-behaved, although Grougal had a tendency to simply grab for whatever food he wanted, and Chibi kept interrupting the adults to ask about what he was eating or request help with some bit of food. Thor was glad Frigga had taken the seat beside the boy – she helped him with long-practiced ease, which left Jahanna free to encourage Loki’s story-telling. And encourage him she did; Thor could see clearly the way she drew tales from Loki with casual prompts and jokes. He knew Loki had to be aware of it – Loki was himself too good at that sort of thing to not notice - yet he allowed it, and Thor let himself hope that perhaps Loki wanted this evening to go well as much as Thor did.

Near the end of the main course, they began to run low on stories. Hoping to keep Loki talking (and, if he was honest, because he was rather curious), Thor asked what had happened with Prince Adale. The question inspired such an eye-roll from Loki that his whole head moved, and Jahanna swatted him on the arm. “That,” Loki said with exaggerated distaste, “is _politics_ , and I will not ruin a perfectly good braised lamb with Adale’s absurdity.”

“By which he means,” Jahanna added with a smirk, “the situation is still up in the air.”

Loki shot her an offended look. “It is _not_ still up in the air. The last time—Grougal!”

This last as the little dragon flew up out of his chair and made to dart across the table toward the rich soufflé a servant was just setting at Thor’s elbow. Loki and Tikalukatal both grabbed for Grougal; Loki got there first and hauled him back to his chair by the tail. “Grougaloragran,” he said sternly (and he sounded just like Thor’s memories of being scolded by Odin, and from the corner of his eye Thor saw Odin realize it too). “That is not how we behave at the dinner table.”

Grougal answered with an angry chittering, but then Chibi called across the table, “You have to be good, Grougal. Remember? We hafta be nice for Gran’mama and Gran’papa.”

Grougal scowled and trilled a noise that was clearly a sulk, but folded his stubby forelimbs over his chest and flopped back down into his seat.

“Thank you,” Loki said, and rubbed the little dragon’s head fondly.

“So,” Frigga said carefully, “he doesn’t speak yet at all?”

“No,” Loki answered. “Dragons don’t have the control to speak until they’re older. But they can understand from birth.”

“We were... seven? Eight?” Jahanna added, with a look across the table to her brother, “when you started talking?”

“Eight,” Tikalukatal answered. “Glip agreed to teach you the Fourth Circle that year.”

“Right,” Jahanna said with a nod. “Grougaloragran might start speaking earlier, though. Chibi was pretty precocious.” She patted the boy’s hat and he paused from wolfing down his slice of pie to beam at her. “‘Grougaloragran’ is a tough first word, but he managed it before he was a year old.”

“His first word was ‘Grougaloragran’?” Frigga asked, eyebrows lifting in surprise.

Jahanna nodded. “For the Six, our dragon sibling’s name is always the first thing we say. ‘Efrim’ is fairly easy for a baby, and so are ‘Adamaї’ and ‘Phaeris’, but ‘Grougaloragran’...”

“It’s a mouthful even for adults,” Loki said. “As is ‘Tikalukatal’, for that matter. Chibi had a good teacher.” He smiled at Jahanna, the kind of saccharine lover’s smile for which Thor desperately wanted to tease him.

But he didn’t dare, not yet, not here, not when things were going so well. So he just said, “I thought children always start with ‘mama’.”

Frigga’s mouth quirked at that and she shared a look with Odin that was full of amusement and parental fondness, an old shared joke. Thor looked between them, frowning, and said, “What? Isn’t it?”

“So I was told,” Frigga said dryly. “But your first word was ‘apple’, of all things.” She shook her head ruefully. “There I was, a first-time mother, waiting for the day I would hear my son ask for me. But instead you demanded an apple.”

Thor couldn’t help but chuckle at that, and the others laughed too; even Odin, who had said almost nothing the entire dinner, cracked a smile.

Then Loki leaned back in his chair, eyes half-lidded and his lips still curled with amusement, and said lightly, “So what was mine?”

Thor froze – he knew that expression, that tone; remembered them from the feast after the Infinity War, from the worst parts of the weeks before it, and knew that this was Loki at his most dangerous, when it was impossible to tell whether he would laugh or lash out, whether he was truly amused or simply waiting to unleash his fury. And Thor had no idea whether the question was an honest one, or a trap; feared suddenly that Loki had set them up, had planned some sort of elaborate trick—

But Frigga didn’t hesitate. She met Loki’s eyes across the table, her own mouth curving into a gentle smile, and said, “Yours was ‘papa’.”

Loki held her gaze for a long moment, the amusement fading; then for the first time that night, he looked directly at Odin. Odin returned the look in silence, his face unreadable. Thor clenched and unclenched his fists under the table, not sure whether he was bracing himself for the worst or hoping for the best.

Then Loki blinked once, his eyes dropping, his expression turning contemplative. He reached for Jahanna’s hand, long pale fingers curling around her dusky ones, and lifted his head to look around the table. “On the subject of firsts,” he said, and if his voice was softer than it had been, no one said anything, “Jahanna and I have an announcement to make.” He paused and turned to Jahanna, who smiled at him nervously, proudly. 

Suddenly Frigga let out a high-pitched squeal of the kind Thor normally associated with the most airheaded noble girls, and her hand flew up to her mouth; she looked positively elated and Thor frowned in confusion. Loki and Jahanna both glanced at her, their mouths quirking in knowing amusement. Frigga fluttered a hand at them to continue, and Jahanna looked up at Loki once more.

And said, “I’m pregnant. The child will be born late next spring or early summer.”

“You’re _what_?” Thor demanded, but he was drowned out by Frigga shrieking again and leaning around Chibi to embrace her.

Shocked, Thor managed to catch Loki’s eye; Loki was grinning widely now, as if he’d just pulled off one of his tricks, and he cocked an eyebrow at Thor. Thor shook his head at him and stood, circling around the table to clap Loki on the shoulder and pull him up from his chair so that Thor could cup his neck. “Congratulations,” he said. For just a moment Loki’s smile turned shy, the mischief and arrogance giving way to a quiet pride, to the brother Thor remembered from their youth, before loneliness and pain had twisted him.

Frigga came up behind them then, and Thor tightened his grip for a moment, then nudged Loki around to face her. Thor was certain she’d have preferred to embrace him the way she’d embraced Jahanna, but she only took Loki’s hands. “It’s wonderful news,” she said, and reached up to lay a hand on his cheek. “I’m proud of you.”

“As am I,” Odin added, and they all turned to look at him. He hadn’t moved from his seat at the table, and Thor couldn’t read his expression as he looked up at his son. “Congratulations, Loki. Jahanna.”

Loki nodded once, a little stiffly; Jahanna inclined her head formally. “Thank you,” she said.

“If you are willing,” Odin continued, “I would offer a gift.”

Loki glanced at Thor, a question in his eyes, but Thor had no idea what Odin was up to; he shook his head and Loki turned back to Odin. “What gift?” he asked cautiously.

“I had originally thought to extend it to Chibi,” Odin said, “but from what you have said, it seems Chibi is already sworn to the Eliatropes’ Council.” He hesitated, then said, “I would name your child Thor’s heir, until such time as he produces an heir of his own. Then your child would remain in the line of succession as appropriate for Thor’s brother’s child.”

Thor stared at his father in surprise. Odin naming Thor’s heirs didn’t particularly bother him - he had never been much concerned about the issue - but he couldn’t fathom why Odin would be making this offer to Loki, now. He called it a gift, and seemed to mean it as an offer of reconciliation – yet it was too political to be simply a gift. Asgard would gain just as much from tying the Eliatropes – and their dragons – to its throne, as Loki and Jahanna personally, or the Eliatropes in general, would gain from closer ties to Asgard. It didn’t make sense for Odin to offer a gift with so many strings attached—

—but suddenly Thor remembered how startled Loki had been when he’d realized that there _weren’t_ strings attached to Thor’s visits, how he’d had so much trouble believing that Thor wanted to see Loki for Loki’s own sake, because he missed him, because he was his brother. And in a flash Thor understood what Odin was doing. Though Thor hated the idea that Loki still trusted them so little, he was all too aware that Loki would be suspicious of any gift that did not come with secondary motives or tricks. Odin was far too canny not to realize that himself, and so he was putting the strings on full display, where Loki would see them, where he would not have to wonder or suspect.

And more, by making it a political offer, Odin had given Loki a way to decline gracefully if he chose. There were many reasons why an Eliatrope ambassador might turn down such an offer, and if he did, that would be all it meant – an ambassador reasonably declining a deal with a king. Not a son not yet ready to take the hand his family had extended, not an offer of reconciliation denied.

Thor looked over at Loki, who had gone utterly still at Odin’s words. His green eyes had narrowed, just a little, and Thor knew that if he himself had realized so much of Odin’s motives, then certainly Loki had likewise realized all of it and probably more. It seemed an eternity that Loki stared at Odin, all of them frozen, even the children watching them in uneasy silence. Thor couldn’t read Loki’s face any more than he could read Odin’s, couldn’t know what his brother was thinking, whether Odin had gauged the situation correctly, whether he’d made things worse.

Loki’s shoulders were rigid, his hands at his sides closed in tight fists. Abruptly he took a deep breath and turned away from Odin to look down at Jahanna. She reached up to take his hand; their fingers laced together and they both turned to Tikalukatal.

Thor held his breath, trying to fight back the hope that flared in his heart. Loki had come here, yes; he had been more than civil, had seemed to make an effort to ensure the dinner was enjoyable. Yet it seemed too much to hope that he might accept this, that he might finally realize how much his family loved him, how much they missed him, how badly they wanted him back. But the thought that Loki might turn this offer down – even if Odin had given him a way to do so – hurt, and Thor swallowed hard against the rising frustration, forcing his hands to be still at his sides—

Then Loki, Jahanna, and Tikalukatal seemed to finish their silent exchange, a sense of finality permeating the room. Thor could see how Jahanna squeezed Loki’s hand, how Loki glanced once more at the dragon as if for reassurance before turning to meet Odin’s eyes.

And very softly, Loki said, “We accept.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually knew this scene was coming before I knew half of what would happen in J'entre proper - hopefully it works as well for you all as it did in my head. There's a lot going on, lots of motives and decisions and plans which haven't been fully discussed or revealed, plus again I'm worried about veering in the dreaded Mary Sue territory with Jahanna's pregnancy. But there are very, very few other events which can prompt the kinds of choices and feelings in this story, and even fewer alternate offers which Odin could make. So once again I'm going to trust you guys that I'm still doing things right...


	15. And We Your Family

When the servants came to clear away the dessert dishes, Frigga suggested that they go for a walk in the gardens. “We’ve still a few hours of sunlight,” she added, “and I think the children will enjoy it.”

“Yes!” Chibi chirped, and thumped his hands on the table in excitement. “Outside! I wanna show Grougal the maze!” Grougal trilled an excited sound, buzzing up out of his seat, and this time neither Loki nor Tikalukatal dragged him back down.

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Jahanna agreed. She pushed back from the table and stood, helping Chibi climb down from his chair without knocking it over in his haste. Frigga and Tikalukatal rose as well, and Thor would have, too – except he noticed Loki hadn’t moved, and neither had Odin.

“Thor,” Frigga said lightly, “would you mind walking with Chibi? I’d like to talk to Jahanna.”

Thor frowned at her, but she was wearing her court face, all politeness and patience and innocence. Then he saw the way Loki had sat back in his chair, his eyes going half-lidded once more and the ghost of a smirk touching his lips as he looked across the table at Odin. At the same time, a hand settled on Thor’s shoulder; from the corner of his eye he could see Tikalukatal standing over him.

It was an effort to keep his voice normal, much less match Frigga’s lightness, but Thor managed, “Of course.”

“You should be a kin-jee,” Chibi told him, running around the table to tug on Thor’s arm. “That was fun.”

“What exactly is that?” Jahanna asked. “He’s been asking for it all week but none of us know what he’s talking about.”

Thor couldn’t help a smile as he swung Chibi up to sit on his shoulders. “A Quinjet,” he explained as he fell into step beside her and they followed Frigga, Tikalukatal, and Grougaloragran to the door.  “The mortals’ flying battle craft.”  

Jahanna’s eyebrows went up, but she grinned. “That... makes sense,” she said. “Although I don't think I'll be able to explain it to Pinpin well enough for him to do it.”

“It’s simple,” Thor said, and put out his arms like wings, careful to duck low enough that Chibi’s fox ears cleared the doorway. He very much did not like leaving Loki alone with Odin – but it was clear that Loki wanted it, and moreover that Frigga, Jahanna, and Tikalukatal all intended to let him do it. Any protest Thor made would only draw attention to everything they were all trying so hard not to say.

So he focused on making Quinjet noises and racing Grougal while Chibi kicked his heels against Thor’s ribs. Tikalukatal kept pace with them with deceptive ease, while Jahanna and Frigga followed at a more leisurely walk. He could hear them talking, about pregnancy and politics and where Jahanna and Loki’s child would fit into the Eliatrope hierarchy as well as the Aesir one, but the children commanded all his attention and by the time they reached the gardens he was glad to put Chibi down to run free with his dragon brother. They’d come back to the Dawn Garden, and Thor found a trellis supported by a pillar sturdy enough to lean against, where he could watch the children. The women settled on a low bench, still chatting as if they were old friends rather than barely-acquainted in-laws, for which Thor was glad. If Jahanna and Frigga enjoyed one another’s company, then perhaps Jahanna would have reason to visit again, and bring Loki with her.

The dragon Tikalukatal came up beside Thor, glowing blue eyes on the children roughhousing further up the path. In a voice like grinding stone, he said, “You worry about your brother.”

Thor glanced over at him, but he was still watching the children, and his posture was loose, open, not confrontational. “...Yes,” Thor admitted.

“Tikalukatal would not have let him stay if he thought he could not handle it,” the dragon said.

“So you are his keeper?” Thor said, a little more sharply than he’d intended.

The dragon met Thor’s eyes calmly. “Tikalukatal is no one’s keeper. But he was with Loki while he healed, and knows what he is capable of. And what he needs to do, though the doing of it may hurt.”

Thor scowled, crossing his arms and slouching against the pillar. The reminder that he hadn’t been there for Loki after the war – that Loki had, in fact, run as far away from Thor as he could – stung. Loki was _Thor’s_ brother, not Tikalukatal’s, and he hated that it was the dragon to whom Loki now turned.

“It speaks well of you that you would protect him,” Tikalukatal continued. “But he has faced much worse.”

_(Loki on the ground screaming, with the Other’s hand on his throat and Thanos leering from the throne; the bitter resigned grief in his eyes when he’d looked at Thor while cradling Jahanna’s still, bloody form; the anger in his voice when he’d said “Your friends. Not mine. Never mine”— )_

—and Thor looked away, scrubbing a hand over his face. Yes, Loki had faced much, much worse than a confrontation with Odin. And while it was Odin who had set him on the path to those terrible things, not just by sending him to the Void, but by bringing an abandoned Jotun infant to Asgard in the first place, Tikalukatal was also not wrong about Loki needing it.  

That didn’t mean Thor had to like letting him put himself in harm’s way yet again.

For a few minutes, neither of them spoke, Thor lost in his thoughts and Tikalukatal inscrutable. The children’s laughter rang through the garden; Jahanna was playing with them now, from her seat on the bench. It was some sort of game involving portals – an odd combination of hide-and-go-seek and tag, where Jahanna would open a portal for one brother to slip through and the other would have to find the portal’s other side and tackle his brother before his brother tackled him. Thor remembered other times, other games, chasing Loki through the gardens or being chased by him, the way Loki would giggle in delight when he caught Thor, the way he’d lean against Thor’s shoulder when they were finally worn out enough to sprawl on the flagstones and bask in the sun.

Finally Thor asked softly, “Is he truly healed?”

"He will always have scars," Tikalukatal answered, just as soft. "But he no longer wakes up screaming in the night."

Guilt and pain and grief like broken glass in his heart, and Thor swallowed hard, fists clenching uselessly. But there was nothing he could have done, not then, not now. Loki had done what he'd had to do, had found a way to heal, and that was what mattered. Thor sighed, made his hands relax, closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of children playing.

Let himself remember other days, other games, and his brother's joyful laughter.

*    *    *

Some time later, Thor looked up from the racing game into which Chibi had recruited him, to see Loki and Odin standing at the entrance to the garden. Even from this distance, he could see that the worst of the terrible tension between them had eased: Odin was no longer holding himself as if the slightest movement could set off an explosion, and Loki wore neither the dangerously lazy expression nor the bowstring-taut anger from before. If they both seemed a little red around the eyes, well, the setting sun was certainly _very_ bright.

Chibi caught sight of them and shouted, “Papa!”, clambering out of Thor’s grip and running across the gardens toward Loki. Thor shook out his shoulder with relief – the game had involved Chibi lying flat along Thor’s arm so that Thor could “fly” him beside Grougaloragran at high speed, but the little dragon had a particularly devious knack for getting Thor to run into things. Including a stone pillar, which Chibi had found hilarious even when he’d had to cling to Thor’s arm to keep from falling in the collision. Jahanna and Frigga had had to rather quickly pretend to be laughing about something else, and even Tikalukatal had cracked a smile. In a voice only Thor could hear, he’d said, “Do not feel too badly. Everyone falls for his tricks.”

So Thor was not disappointed to set that game aside, and watch as Chibi jumped on his father to be swung up into the air, then hastily transferred to a one-armed grip so that Loki could catch Grougaloragran as well. “What were you two up to?” Loki asked them, smiling and with a mischievous glint in his eye. “I’ve not seen Thor look so worn since he got caught in a bilgesnipe stampede.”

“Oh, you’re going to have to tell that one,” Jahanna said.

“Perhaps later,” Thor said quickly, and Loki smirked.

Chibi was already squirming to get back down, so Loki let him go, and the boy caught Odin’s hand. “Come on, Gran’papa, you should come play too!”

Odin glanced at Loki, and it was very clear that he was asking for permission. Loki didn’t say anything, his face unreadable, but neither did he refuse, so Odin allowed himself to be dragged up the path by Chibi on one arm and Grougal on the other. A truce, then, Thor thought, rather than actual peace, but it was still more than he’d hoped for, and he could not help smiling. He made his way over to where Loki was sitting down on another of the garden’s benches, long legs stretched out before him and arms thrown over the back of the bench.

Loki gave him a narrow-eyed look as he approached. “What are you so delighted about?” he asked.

Thor tried, with marginal success, to get his expression under control. “You’re here,” he said, and shrugged as he sat down on the bench beside him.

“Yes,” Loki said. “I did say I was coming. Do you still trust me so little—”

“It’s not that,” Thor interrupted, before annoyance could overtake Loki’s amusement. “Just...” He sighed, and met Loki’s eyes. “I know you had few reasons to come, and every reason not to.”

Loki blinked, then looked away, licking his lips. His long fingers drummed against the back of the bench, and finally he said, his tone light, “Chibi wanted to.”

Thor swallowed back the reflexive demand for the rest of the answer, the desire to push Loki for more, to get past that deliberate carelessness to the truth. Frigga had got farther with Loki in one week than Thor had in three years, just by not pushing; if she could do it, so could Thor. So he bit down hard on his tongue, made himself watch the children running Odin in circles – they were trying to get Frigga to join them now, too – and said nothing.

And after a minute or so had passed, Loki said softly, “I spoke with Laufey.”

Thor looked at him, startled, but Loki was staring at the tips of his boots. “Just before the war,” Loki continued. “Odin had hidden the last gem in Hel, assuming – rightly so – that no living creature could retrieve it.” He licked his lips again, and swallowed. “Laufey brought it to me, at the gates of Hel.”

Thor frowned – Odin had wondered, once, how Loki had got the gem from Hel, but this didn’t seem the appropriate time to mention that. So he just said, “Why?” Because Loki had killed Laufey, had lured him to Asgard only to betray him in Odin’s name, but Thor wasn’t sure he should bring that up, either...

Loki glanced up at Thor, a dark glitter of amusement in his eyes that said he knew exactly what Thor was thinking. “He blamed Odin,” he said. “For corrupting me. I can’t say I disagree.”

He looked away again, then, and so did Thor, because whatever Laufey had thought, Thor couldn’t believe that Loki being raised on Asgard was in any way _corruption_.

“We talked,” Loki said, and his voice had gone rough. “Just... just briefly, we didn’t have much time, but...” He took a deep breath and let it out with a shudder, drawing his legs in, curling around himself. “He didn’t abandon me. He left me where he thought I’d be safe while he fought to protect me.” Thor didn’t know what to say to that, but Loki didn’t seem to be expecting a response. “After,” he continued, a little too abruptly, “after the war, I went back to Emrub and looked.”

He lifted his head and met Thor’s eyes. “I have a family,” he said quietly. “A mother named Farbauti. Two brothers.”

Something dark and cold slithered into Thor’s chest, a terrible frightening hollowness at the longing in Loki’s voice. “I have heard of Farbauti,” he managed, because he couldn’t say any of the rest. “She rules Jotunheim now.”

A ghost of a smile touched Loki’s mouth. “I would advise against attempting diplomatic contact with her,” he said, and didn’t quite manage to make it a joke. “Laufey told her who I was before he left.”

Thor swallowed and nodded. Loki looked away again, over at the children, at Jahanna, before turning back to Thor. “I have a _family_ ,” he repeated. “One which I will never be able to know, through my own faults as much as Odin’s.” He put a hand on Thor’s knee, leaning in with an earnestness Thor had not seen in years, and said fiercely, “I will not leave my children with that same regret.”

Thor nodded again, because he could not do anything else. But warmth was beginning to fill the cold hollowness in his chest, that even if Loki did have another family, other brothers – he still wanted his children to know Thor, to know Frigga and Odin and Asgard. Loki was watching him, green eyes wide, sincere _(true sincerity, and Thor knew him well enough to be sure, even after all this time)_ , and Thor reached out to cup his neck and shake him, perhaps a little more roughly than he’d meant. After a moment Loki smiled, tentative, shy, and shifted to bump his shoulder against Thor’s. Thor let go of his neck, jostling him a bit so the sharp bone of his elbow wasn’t jabbing into Thor’s arm, and settled against Loki’s shoulder.

This time, when he turned to watch the children, he didn’t have to imagine his brother’s presence at his side.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and all that's left is the epilogue. 
> 
> On a related note, how interested are you guys in a part 5? If I did one, it'd be heavily Wakfu-focused and set primarily on the World of Twelve; the Avengers would feature prominently; and in terms of size, scope, and action vs drama, it would be more along the lines of J'entre than parts 2 through 4. 
> 
> On the other hand, this is a reasonably nice place to leave our favorite gods, and if you vote for a part 5, you're returning them to my *ahem* tender mercies for another couple dozen chapters at _least_... }:]


	16. Epilogue

As unexpectedly pleasant _(wonderful, impossible)_ as the evening had been, eventually it had to come to an end. The sun dipped below the horizon to the west and the children began to tire, growing cranky and irritable. Which was rather dangerous when one of them could breathe fire, so they all began to make their way back to the palace. Chibi insisted on one more ride on Thor's shoulders, but when he started to list sideways, his eyelids drooping, Thor handed him off to Loki instead. The boy dozed against his father's shoulder, fox-eared hat tucked under Loki’s chin, while Grougaloragran hovered close by until he, too, grew sleepy enough to allow Tikalukatal to carry him.

Frigga sent a servant ahead to prepare a carriage to drive Loki's family back out to the end of the Bifrost, though she admitted as they walked that she hadn’t expected them to come through the rainbow bridge. “Heimdall said you hadn’t been using it,” she said. “Truth be told, I had rather expected you to simply… appear inside the palace, but I thought I’d have a carriage waiting just in case.”

Jahanna smiled. “We appreciate it,” she said. “It would have been quite the walk for the children.”

“Heimdall spoke true,” Loki added. “I hadn’t been using the Bifrost. But with all five of us, it was easier to simply link the Bifrost to the Zaap outside the Sadida Kingdom.”

“A permanent link?” Thor asked hopefully. Loki rolled his eyes and didn’t answer, but Jahanna winked at Thor behind Loki’s back.

They gathered at the base of the steps from the Yggdrasil Hall to say their good-byes. Frigga and Jahanna embraced, and Chibi roused long enough to give Odin and Frigga sleepy, limp-armed hugs. Thor just ruffled the boy’s hat between his fox ears, then Jahanna climbed into the carriage and Loki handed Chibi up to her. Tikalukatal, having not bothered to wake Grougal, followed, leaving Loki alone.

He nodded to Odin, not a warm farewell but at least a civil one; Odin returned the nod, then stepped back against the stairs. Frigga moved next, sudden and swift, embracing Loki fiercely. Loki froze, visibly startled by the show of affection, and Thor had to resist the urge to press a hand to his eyes in exasperation. But after a moment Loki lifted his arms to return Frigga’s embrace. His motions were stiff and awkward, but it was still far better than how he’d previously avoided her touch entirely. When they finally separated, Frigga reached up to take Loki’s face in her hands. “Come back and see us again soon,” she said. “This was a delightful evening.”

Loki nodded, and Thor didn’t think he was imagining the way Loki’s mouth trembled, nor the way he blinked moisture from his eyes. Frigga stole one more brief hug before she joined Odin by the stairs. Finally it was Thor’s turn, and he stepped forward to clap Loki on the shoulder. “I’m glad you came,” he said.

“Sentiment,” Loki snorted, but smiled.

Thor shook him a little, and would have let him go, but remembered suddenly his promise to Fandral. He almost didn’t want to say anything, didn’t want to risk fouling what had been such a wonderful visit – but he _had_ promised, and moreover there was a part of him that hoped he could facilitate one last recompensing, place one more brick in the still-tentative foundation they were rebuilding. “Loki,” he said quietly. “I’ve something…” He hesitated, searching for the words; finally said in a rush, “Fandral and Volstagg asked me to tell you—they’re sorry. For – everything, for what they did. They did not – it was not their intent to hurt you.”

Loki stared at him a moment in silence, and Thor couldn’t read his face at all, didn’t know what he was thinking, if he’d ruined it—  

—then Loki’s mouth quirked in something that wasn’t quite a smile, and he said, very softly, “I know.”  

Thor nodded, uncertain; tightened his grip on Loki’s shoulder until Loki broke the moment by rolling his eyes and thumping Thor on the arm. “Are you going to let me leave?” he asked, his voice light, teasing. “Or have you become a limpet?”

“I’ve never had luck trying to keep you,” Thor shot back, but he could not help a smile. He pulled Loki into a rough embrace, thumping him on the back before letting him go to cup his neck. “I’m still holding you to your promise,” he said. “Say hello when you’re here.”

“And you stay out of my things,” Loki retorted.

“Of course,” Thor said magnanimously.  Loki shook his head in mock exasperation, but Thor could see the smirk tugging at his mouth.

Loki pulled away then, climbing into the carriage and closing the door. The driver clucked at the horses and the carriage started down the road toward the Bifrost, while Frigga waved from the steps and Odin straightened his shoulders as though the weight that had bowed them since the Infinity War had eased, just a little.

And for the first time in more than three years, Thor could watch his brother leave and believe wholeheartedly that he would see him again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned - part 5 starts next week!


End file.
